


Out Tonight

by starredthought



Category: James Bond (Craig movies)
Genre: Bisexual James Bond, Coming Out, Cuddling & Snuggling, Drag Queens, First Dates, First Kiss, First Time, Fluff, Foreplay, Gay Bar, Gay Q, Hangover, Hurt/Comfort, Implied/Referenced Homophobia, James Bond's Retirement, M/M, Mutual Pining, Panic Attacks, Pre-Relationship, Q is a smoker, flustered Q, what's in a name?
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-05-18
Updated: 2020-12-22
Packaged: 2021-03-02 21:49:01
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 12
Words: 30,239
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/24243814
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/starredthought/pseuds/starredthought
Summary: After coming upon Q at an infamous gay club, James starts to discover a number of different sides of the Quartermaster that he had no idea existed
Relationships: Eve Moneypenny & Q, James Bond & Eve Moneypenny, James Bond/Q
Comments: 39
Kudos: 204





	1. Chapter 1

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> My body's talking to me, it says "time for danger"

The Royal Vauxhall Tavern was hardly one of James's usual haunts, despite it's absolute proximity to MI6, but he'd heard Q mention it a handful of times and the man hardly drank. So when an unusually taxing assignment left him with a desire to drink in anonymity, he put his trust once again, in the Quartermaster. Even when he was prompted to pay a cover at the door.

"For what?" he asked, mildly annoyed before he noticed the poster just beyond the entrance featuring a number of over the top, caricatures of women in flamboyant clothing and wigs so large they would leave Dolly Parton and Amy Winehouse in shadow.

"Every second Friday," the civilian looking man at the door explained. "Tonight's theme is songs from the West End." James dreaded the idea of loud music and outrageous performers when all the wanted was to submerge his emotional headache in the bottom of a pint glass. But something on the poster that he couldn't identify tickled his curiosity. "Money tonight goes toward safe housing for homeless youth."

James fished his wallet out of the back pocket of his jeans and squeezed himself into the tavern.

By the time he got to the bar, he knew he had to be one of the oldest people in the room by at least ten, maybe fifteen years. This was Q's crowd, not his own, everyone at the prime of their life, laughing with mates and...hanging off of them as well. He caught sight of a young man stroking the hair of another at the end of the bar, and then witnessed a kiss between another male couple, and then took notice of the number of rainbow motifs throughout the space.

Oh. Right.

It's THAT type of club.

James had taken very little thought to Q's...type, apart from believing that he hardly had any. There were days he had to remind himself that Q was a human at all and not a very elaborate android that could be at best, married to his work. But then again, all James really knew about Q's civilian life was that he had a true phobia of flying, two cats, and a mortgage. Otherwise, he remained quite tight-lipped about what he got up to when the doors of Q-branch closed behind him.

The bartender looked like a toddler to James, fresh-faced with torn jeans and a plain white t-shirt, but he surprised him with a damn good cocktail. The energy around him in the full, intimate space felt strangely refreshing. Most of the places he frequented for a drink were populated by men like him, desiring a night of physical peace away from a job, a family, a life that had the ability to make them miserable. But these patrons, these kids, were here to have fun, to be with each other's company and maybe find someone to go home with at the end of it all. It made James think back to his Navy days when he and his mates felt invincible, that the world was theirs for the taking. The days long gone. He was merely a passenger in that world now, so he would drink in the energy while he could.

The house lights dimmed while the stage glowed under the bright white spotlight just before the crowd around him erupted in cheers to the arrival of what James could only describe as a painted Amazon clad head to toe in lavender sequins. She milked the attention, fanning herself in flattery and blowing exaggerated kisses over the audience. "Hello my lovelies, are you all in good form this evening?" she greeted, eliciting another swell of cheers from seemingly everyone but James, who silently sipped his martini. "My name is London Fyre and I'll be your hostess for this _fabulous_ show tonight, featuring songs from the _stage_!" James had no idea how anyone could be so over the top. It was as if she took theatre training while on cocaine.

"We're going to start this _razzle-dazzle_ evening with a newbie but a goodie. Please give the warmest of RVT welcomes to... _Anita Favour_!"

A drum solo intro blanketed the magnified cheers that only grew when the crowd recognized the song. It didn't sound like any musical James heard before. Anita thrust open the curtains as electric guitar and even louder shouts and screams filled the room, a mop of light brown curls tumbling down to a pleather miniskirt, ripped fishnet stockings, and shiny thigh-high stiletto boots that made James's ankles cry, though he was sure they were hardly going to be the tallest he'd see that night.

The lyrics began and she wrapped her overdrawn, vampy red lips around each of them so well it looked as if she was actually singing, but James realized quickly that it was more about the dancing, the way Anita would swing her hips from side to side and sashay around the stage that was hardly large enough to hold her larger-than-life presence. The heels hardly seemed an impediment to her as she danced so wildly, James sat in wonder about how her monstrous wig stayed on. He'd seen women dance like Anita in more nefarious clubs while on assignment, but even they would have been envious of her ability to completely own the crowd with her kisses and carefully placed gyrations.

She lowered herself to the floor, running her long, delicate fingers down the insides of her spread legs as she did so. Like a panther, she stalked to the front of the stage on her hands and knees, a hungry expression coming through under the layers of dark makeup as she collected dozens of bills offered up to her and slid them into the tops of her boots and under the waist of her skirt. Turning to her back, she offered her perfectly pale midriff to the spotlight, running her hands over her body and writhing in ecstasy that made even James feel a blush. She believed in the power behind every movement, and the crowd responded in an absolute frenzy as the lyrics howled and she arched her back into a climax.

Her legs fanned upwards to turn her toward her audience of subjects, boots kicking as they dangled from the edge of the stage as she looked rather pleased with the hysteria she could elicit with nothing but her body and charisma. But she was far from finished with them, as she jumped from the stage into the adoring crowd. Anita was quite touchy, hands wandering from body to body and face to face with teasing little moments of sensual contact. All the while, her lips never faltered with the words, as if every second had been previously rehearsed dozens of times. She strode through the sea of people, stopping to dance and grind against a handful of patrons, leaving them breathless. _Do you know how lucky you'll be?_

The music softened with her demeanor as she reached the bar, only a handful of people between her and James. The bartender handed her shot, which she threw back and downed just before the lyrics returned. _In the evening, I've got to roam. Can't sleep in the city of neon and chrome._ She made her way down, turning and stepping expertly between everyone, until she spun and found herself face to face with James, arm extended to his shoulder before they made eye contact. In that moment, the illusion broke, and the expression of confidence and certainty shattered into one of shock and fear.

The lyrics carried on without her, mouth frozen agape.

_So let's find a bar, so dark we forget who we are! Where all the scars from the nevers and maybes die!_

Literally shaking him off, she scurried away, finding a bar stool recently vacated to boost herself up onto the bar and away from James. Recovering from her spook quickly enough that the audience didn't seem to notice, she returned to her passionate and wild movements. Money flowed in her direction and she hardly had the space to carry it while she danced. Body rolls punctuated her words, and with a final whip of her hair and swing of her hips, she ended her number glistening in sweat under the lights, the cheers so loud James's ears muffled the sound in defense. She lowered herself carefully back to the floor, collecting notes all the way back to the main stage, where with a final kiss to the crowd, she disappeared.

The hostess had started speaking again, but James was too frazzled to hear what she was saying. He was still thinking about the sudden change in demeanor the queen had experienced when faced with him. And why on earth did a face caked to hell with layers of makeup leave him with a feeling of familiarity?

He finished his drink and pushed the glass away from him, excusing himself from the bar just as the music started for the second act. The intersection just outside the standalone structure directed cars in every direction over the damp roads. The fact that MI6 was on just the other side of the bridge brought him an odd comfort as he worked to make sense of what just happened. The whole performance left him confused and questioning, titillated in ways he'd never quite experienced. He kept thinking of the way she had moved and commanded those around her with absolute control. How she captured attention with a look and drove those around her into quiet submission, leaving them wondering what had just happened to them.

He'd felt this way before, and his head turned toward MI6 without conscious thought.

A metal door creaked opened behind him and a moment later, he heard the sound of a lighter clicked several times like a trigger on an empty pistol. Turning, he saw a figure quickly dart behind the tavern and he took a chance to follow them. He approached cautiously, delicately, as if advancing on a target in the field. Despite all of his efforts, as soon as he came into her view, she jumped and the cigarette between her fingers tumbled to the cobblestones under her thigh-high boots and fishnets.

" _Shit!_ " she--he breathed, causing James's heart to stop along with his feet.

Hesitation coated his response as if the wrong word would set off a bomb. "...Q?"

The curtain of tight curls shifted to reveal a pair of glasses, and a stern, fire-filled look that James could recognize even under the streetlights and layers of makeup. Even with his care, James couldn't guarantee that the bomb had been disarmed, Q looking like a fearful animal backed into a corner.

"What are you doing here?" Q bit at him, breathing sharply as he fished for a second cigarette from his coat that James now recognized from work. He found himself at a complete loss for words. The voice was 100% Q, but most everything else about the person in front of him was decidedly _not_. 

He fumbled over his words and responded by stepping back, fidgeting with his hands. "I...you mentioned this place. I wanted to go somewhere I wouldn't know anyone." Q scoffed and exhaled a stream of smoke. "Obviously...didn't work out." 

The Quartermaster remained silent, not even looking in Bond's direction. He looked so comfortable despite his anger, so laid back and loose contrasting the upright and upstanding air that he held on the other side of the bridge. The heels made him dwarf James in more ways than simply physical height. "That was...quite the performance." No response, but he at least got recognition with his eyes. "What was the song?" 

He took a drag and blew the smoke away in its entirety before he graced James with an answer. " _Out Tonight._ Apparently more fitting than I initially realized." He turned his head down to the ground and wrapped his arms tightly around himself. 

"Q..." he pleaded as he took a single step forward, prompting Q to turn his body away from him just enough to send a stabbing pain into James's chest. "Q...it's hardly an issue." Hardly, but there was still an amount of bewilderment facing him as his previous ideas about the man in front of him were shattered and replaced with something completely out of left field. Quartermaster. Fear of Flying. Two Cats. Mortgage. Drag Queen. Queer. Two big qualities to add to one's personal resume on one night, against their will. "But that's not what you've always heard...is it?"

"This conversation is not happening now," he replied harshly like open nerves were being poked and prodded. "Leave me alone, Bond." Nothing but smoke left Q's lips after that. The door between them was shut, even with Q in plain view. With a resigned sigh, James stuck his hands in his pockets and retreated, knowing better than to go against his Quartermaster's instructions.

With a simple good night, James left him in the dark.


	2. Chapter 2

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> "Q, what's happened?"  
> "I think the problem...is that I'm...quite hungover, but also possibly still a bit drunk."

The message had come through as a distress signal over the secure network, giving him Q's GPS coordinates as well as the code to his front door. Panic flooded his body as he sped through the city just slow enough to avoid delay via ticketing. An empty spot where Q's car would have gone if he had one proved a blessing and his racing heart took him up the stairs two at a time. 

He had no idea what would greet him when he entered the townhome. Gun extended, he stalked cautiously into the space, looking for compromised points of entry and exit, but found hardly anything out of place, with no sign of struggle, at least until he followed the cats toward the light of the bathroom. The sight of Q's crumpled body stole the air from his lungs.

James set his pistol down on the floor just outside and knelt down next to him. "Q?" he asked with fear in his voice. He was wearing the same clothes he wore to work the day before and looked impossibly pale next to the ivory tiling. At least he was breathing. Reaching out, he put a hand on Q's shoulder and gently shook him, which elicited an annoyed, tired groan. Only then did James allow himself to breathe. "Q, what's happened?"

Reluctantly, Q opened his eyes and turned his body slowly, as if it would break if handled roughly, so he could see James but maintain as much contact with the floor as possible. He half registered the concern in his eyes, gone dark blue in fear. "I think..." he started. "I think the problem...is that I'm... _quite_ hungover, but also possibly still a bit drunk."

James sighed and looked down at his watch. "Q, it's...never mind. When did you eat something last?" he asked, taking note of the sick that mostly made it into the toilet. As he turned over, he could see the remnants of makeup not quite removed around his eyes, hairline, and jaw.

"Dinner last night?" he answered, uncertain. He didn't remember leaving the Tavern, or how he got home, but he doubted he had eaten anything during that time. The thought of food made his stomach turn over and he hugged his belly in defense.

"What about water? Tea?"

"Didn't make it that far." He closed his eyes again and focused on filling his lungs. "God this is awful," he breathed.

"Do you mind if I use your kitchen?" His voice was so nice and low, the perfect tone for Q's sensitive brain to handle.

"Help yourself. I certainly can't." James didn't move immediately. His hand lingered on Q's shoulder for a few moments longer before he gave it the slightest of reassuring squeezes.

"Don't stop breathing before I get back," he demanded as he raised himself up once more with a groan of effort. As if it required an undue amount of energy, Q focused all of his attention on the sound of his breathing against the hard ceramic tile. I tried to imagine waves breaking gently on the shore, but that only made him feel seasick. Instead, he listened to the sounds of life just beyond the door.

He heard James run the tap to fill the electric kettle, followed by the ginger open and closing of each of his cabinets as well as the fridge as if he were in a library. The cats meowed at the stranger in their house and a smile crossed his face as Bond gently conversed back with them. "Where does he keep the frying pan? Here? No, it's not there, those are cat treats, but nice try kitty." He hummed to himself as he searched through the pantry. "Do you have...yes, alright." It brought him comfort, hearing someone else exist within his space in that moment. It reeked of domesticity, a phenomenon he craved but was embarrassed to admit. It helped the world stop spinning, and everything became level.

He heard James's footsteps approach once more, and Q took a chance lifting his head up slowly. "Take your time," James reassured. "Though I'd rather you not drink your tea on the floor of your loo if you're able." His hand was there to steady Q once more, allowing his equilibrium to shift every few moments. Q straightened his glasses and his vision felt clear for the first time all day, though he sent his gaze anywhere but Bond's pitying expression.

"Sorry," Q mumbled, resting his head against the vanity.

"No, don't--no." He reached out and wrapped Q's hands around a warm mug, holding his own around the man's fingers until he was sure he would be able to keep a grip on it. "Drink this. Small sips. I'll be back." He went off again to tend to the sizzling in the kitchen, and Q brought the mug just to his lips, letting the rising steam rise over his face chilled from the floor. He caught hints of ginger and a slice of lemon floated on the surface, but the tea itself was a peppermint blend. And there was something else that he couldn't identify. Following Bond's instruction, he lifted the brew to his lips just enough to get a couple of drops down his throat. His stomach protested at first, Q eyeing the toilet in a panic that he might be sick in front of Bond, but whatever he put into the tea calmed his system in a matter of minutes.

While the fog in his brain persisted, Q carefully got his feet under him, steadying himself against the counter to allow the blood to pump against gravity. Huddling the mug close to his chest, he shuffled into the living space and over to the dining table without a word, watching as Bond attended to something on the stovetop that made Q's starving body start salivating. He'd never seen the man in such a casual light. This wasn't 007, or even Bond. This was James, who apart from his physique, could have been anyone on the street with his t-shirt and jeans. He crossed his arms as he diligently watched the pan, and Q drank in the sight of him with the tea.

James set a plate down in front of him, and Q laid his eyes on the biggest omelet he'd ever seen, perfectly yellow and overflowing with sausage, veggies, and cheese, followed up with two slices of buttered toast and orange wedges. "Tuck in." He immediately returned to the kitchen to start the washing up and give Q a bit of space, reappearing ten minutes later with a cup of tea of his own in his hands and a neutral expression on his face. They sat in surprisingly comfortable silence as if they'd done this hundreds of times. James drank Q's Earl Grey from a mug with a power button icon on it Occasionally he'd reach down and give a scratch to a begging cat. Every few minutes he would glance in Q's direction to see if he was still eating or about to throw up. He made it through about half the omelet before he crossed his silverware on the plate. James didn't skip a beat getting up from his chair and clearing away the place setting. "Now go have a shower and brush your teeth." His tone was instructive, not stern or demoralizing. No fluff but Q felt the care in his words. "And change into something comfortable!" he added as Q started back toward the bathroom once more.

It was so strange, being the one that needed the care. Even stranger that less than 24 hours prior, he was seething angry at James for invading his space, shouting at him to go away, only to beckon him back into his home. As he shed off yesterday's sweaty, wrinkled clothes, an odd feeling of vulnerability brought goosebumps to his skin. His brain told him that the other man in his home would join him shortly. Why else would he be showering while someone else was present unless they were an intimate acquaintance? His heart quivered in his chest as he soaked himself in the hottest water he could stand, washing away the grime, the sick, the scents of old alcohol and tobacco, and the _goddamn glitter_!

Sufficiently warmed, scrubbed, and changed into a well-worn shirt from Cambridge on top of track pants, he wandered back to the living space, where James remained, sprawled on the couch with a ginger cat on his chest and a Himalayan stretched across his legs, looking entirely too comfortable. "Well, you're not going anywhere." Q mused with a smile.

"I've heard that is the rule," he responded, still scratching the ginger's head. "Who is this?"

"That's Alan. Like Turing." James shook his head with a smile as if to say of _course it is_. "And that's Ada. As in Lovelace. Not terribly creative on the pet naming front."

"You have bigger things to worry about, Quartermaster." The propriety sent a strange tingling through him, heart fluttering again. "How are you feeling?"

"Better...still wanting to sleep for days but bit more human. Thank you." He stood awkwardly in his own lounge, James taking up all of the traditional seating as if he belonged there. His fingers fidgeted with each other as they so often did in Bond's presence. "Bond...I believe I owe you an explanation."

"You don't owe me anything," he responded, as Alan jumped from his chest. Bond followed him and Ada with his eyes as they ran off.

"Perhaps, but I hope it will be a weight off of me. I certainly don't want to carry it to work." James shifted himself on the couch, leaving room for Q to shuffle over and take a seat at the very opposite end of the sofa, posture contained as if he was on a crowded train. "Last night, I remember you were just trying to be sensitive and I was unresponsive because I panicked. I had a panic attack." James's shoulders relaxed with a sigh, trying to allow Q permission to do that same. "Because coming out is something you never stop doing. But usually, you try to have some control over the act. It's..." he paused, mulling over the words, hands working together as if molding them out of invisible clay. "It's like targeting someone in the field. You assess, analyze, research...and if after all that, you believe them to be an appropriate target you wait until the right moment to take the shot." _Every now and then a trigger has to be pulled._

_Or not pulled._

"But if after all the research, your results are less favorable, a shot could result in damage of a collateral nature, so you abort. Until one day, in a moment of vulnerability...your cover is blown by a target deemed to be potentially hostile. A complete loss of control and perceived threat to well-being, all in one moment." Only then did Q look up to make eye contact with James, who returned with an expression of profound understanding, features tense and serious.

"From the first day we met, you boasted about how the old ways are the best. You seem to subscribe to a traditional view of what a man should be...a view that is...historically incompatible with people like me." That phrase-- _people like you_ \--made the nausea in him grow. A phrase used by those who made him feel other, wrong, or worse...repulsive. "People like that meet people like me and then all they see is 'GAY'. It strips us of our personhood, one detail of our being eclipsing any brilliance, any skill, any personality...it all might as well be null and void." 

Q's hands fell to the sofa cushions, gripping the edges in a way that made the tendons on his hands and the veins of his arms swell on the surface. He could feel James's eyes on him, stare never letting up as he turned his own gaze straight ahead of him "Given the nature of our relationship and the sort of intimacy involved, I made the judgment call that you wouldn't be receptive and that it could effect your well-being in the field. So imagine my distress when you discovered not only that but another, more compromising detail, especially given that you cited me as the source for why you were there at all." 

He took a deep breath in and sighed, lips pressed together. "But then you said it was 'hardly an issue,' and you're right, that isn't what I've always heard. So I clung onto that and took a risk in calling you, because I figured if anyone could handle a crippling hangover it would be you. Besides, what more damage could be done?"

Q turned his head toward James once more, his face sending a message of finality. He wouldn't let on how rapidly his heart pounded in his chest after spilling it open all over the place, instead opting for a flat, professional expression. James took a deep breath as he leaned forward to rest his elbows on the tops of his thighs. 

"What you get up to outside of MI6 is none of my business. Truth is the only thing about last night that disgusted me was the fact that you smoke. Honestly, I took you as smarter than that." Q nodded, letting his head hang. "Everything else...I was frankly quite impressed."

"It's just an act--"

"It isn't though, is it? Not with your amount of conviction. What I saw was someone who knows the worth, and knows how to use it." The tiniest smile flicked across Q’s lips and he shyly diverted his eyes. "Different context, certainly, but same essence. I'm sorry I broke your concentration but you carried on like a true professional. You never let anything get to you for long if a job needs to be done. Anita and Q aren't as different as you might think. I think she is who you would be if left unchecked by a sense of professionalism"

"Like you?" Q quipped. James couldn't ignore the leaping of his own heart, seeing Q come back to life in front of him with a cheeky smile that had endeared him so many times.

"Maybe that explains why I enjoyed it so much. Or maybe it's just invigorating to see that you're warm-blooded." As if to prove his point, a flash of color blazed across Q’s cheeks for the first time all day. 

Q licked his lips nervously, unconsciously. "Of course I am. I don't eat, sleep, and breathe MI6. Well, not all the time." James chuckled lowly and shifted to sink further into the sofa like he was going to be staying for some time.

"The cardigans must have thrown me off."

"My wardrobe is hardly relevant. What do you want me to do, show up to Q-Branch in leather and lace?"

"I don't give a damn what you wear to work as long as you don't run me into a firefight."

"You hardly need my help to do that, 007. Your own charisma seems to be quite incendiary."

The smile, nay, smirk James received dripped with self-satisfaction, so much so that he shook his head in disbelief as he attempted unsuccessfully to hide his own pleasured grin. "Well, your brain fog seems to have cleared up nicely." 

"Seems so." Though Q could have been on death's door and still managed a quip if the opportunity presented itself. The cats had returned to the lounge, loudly protesting their father's neglect of their food bowls. "Oh hush, it cannot be dinner time yet." James looked down at his watch, confirming vocally that it was indeed 19:30. "Shit. And when did you arrive? Was that only two hours ago? Lost a whole bloody day..." Q stood up and the cats rushed to escort him to the kitchen, where he treated them to double the amount of wet food for their troubles. 

James followed slowly behind them, admiring Q in his own world, which made him seem even youthful somehow, all in his uni attire covered in cat hair while his own lay damp and unshaven. He'd known him for years but only as deeply as MI6 would allow, and the last day had completely ripped that illusion open to reveal both the ostentatious and the deeply mundane to coexist with Q's already exceptional presence. Their intimacy in the field came from a necessity to be in each other's heads, to know how far their respective abilities could take them and where they could be stretched for the sake of the mission. Now, in that calendar day alone, he'd gained the code to Q's door, knew where to find enough in his kitchen to make a meal, could call his cats by name, and occupied the same space with him as he showered and changed into clothing he would never wear in polite company. And that wasn't even including the emotional openness that Q normally kept close to the vest, if not buttoned underneath. The intimacy had stretched into the physical world, and it stoked the glowing embers in James's chest.

But he couldn't risk overstaying his welcome, though he wanted so much to dive deeper into this comfort. "Well, you seem to be able to manage on your own." He took note of Q's undeniable cause that lasted hardly a moment. He disposed of the cat food cans in the recycling bin and turned back toward Bond from across the counter island. "If you don't need anything else, I think I'll leave you to a bit of R&R."

Q gave him a resigned nod, not wanting to admit how much he enjoyed a day that should have been spent in absolute agony, all due to Bond's presence and diligent care. When their interactions always involved objects rigged to exact fatal damage, it was easy to believe that softness wasn't something that James was capable of. He'd shrugged off M's death with the stoicism of a soldier, eager to jump back into that which he excelled. But Q had no idea what happened to him outside of the walls of their workplace. He imagined lonely nights in bars with mahogany walls filled cigar smoke where he would maybe find a woman to spend the night with to forget the horrors he'd seen over decades of faithful service. Or wining and dining said woman in London's finest establishments in his best Tom Ford suits, pistol hidden away under his arm in a leather holster, ready if the situation took a sour turn. He never envisioned him making a cup of tea, cooking his own food, or applying a tender, healing touch to a civilian bystander caught in his crossfire. Logically, he knew it had to be possible, but in reality, he hadn't the evidence to back it up until the last couple of hours materialized.

"I suppose that might be all I can do at this point. I should hate to take up any more of your time." He came from behind the island and started toward the front door, punching in a code to unlock it from the inside. James followed closely behind him until both of them found themselves leaning against opposite sides of the door frame, saying nothing, neither moving in any direction to separate. Sounds from the street reminded them of the world outside, seemingly separate from the little bubble they existed in at that moment.

"Thank you for your....expertise." James chuckled to himself and Q couldn't help but respond with his own smile. "It probably doesn't come as a shock that asking for assistance does not always come easy to me."

"Again, just refreshing to know that you're human." Q shook his head, adjusting his glasses before placing his eyes on James once more with a heavy sigh tinged with dread as he finally opened the door.

"Same to you."


	3. Chapter 3

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> "What do you really want? You don't come down here flaunting your charms unless you want me to do something for you that could potentially compromise both of our careers."

James had never made a habit of visiting Q-branch unless absolutely necessary. It was buried deep in the bowels of the new Vauxhall building, with as much physical security as the intelligence office and cybersecurity matching the IT department, just as Q wanted. He didn't want people just dropping in, interrupting work needlessly for the sake of idle chatter, so he'd created something to rival Fort Knox. Everyone's movements in and out of the department were cataloged, every piece of equipment checked out as if a book in a library. Each of the engineers was allowed only one mug to avoid clutter and litter. It was a regiment under the strict control of its commander if James ever saw one.

So James never really went to Q-branch, but the following Monday, he made an exception.

Q branch buzzed first thing in the morning, everyone jumping into their tasks left dormant over the weekend. The interns got to work processing the gear for the agents soon to be deployed as well as those just returning--a new addition looking terribly fearful when faced with James's incomplete kit-- while the juniors booted up their computers to pull up their current blueprints and schematics for the next big gadget. Two handlers running 006 and 003 sat glued to their monitors as others ran to fill their coffee mugs and bring them a spot of breakfast.

A hive of activity with a queen at the center of it all.

Q rubbed the bridge of his nose as he started his rounds, a strong cup of Earl Grey stabilized between both hands. He yawned into the mug and blinked rapidly at a schematic for an umbrella shotgun that must have been designed by the junior's child for all he knew. One shot hardly justified the subsequent research and development, and the defensive properties were pure science fiction. Besides, what agent carried an umbrella, even in London? "I'm not sure that MI6 would have any practical use for this, not to say that it's not an interesting concept...I'm just not sure it's entirely practical." _It's a complete Hollywood fantasy_.

A broad body out of place jarred him further awake when he lifted his head from the monitor. "Double-O Seven, I don't believe we have a meeting today?" A handful of the technicians turned their heads to gawk at the outsider who caused them the most hassle out of all the double-Os as he strode through the space, slowing as he approached the Quartermaster.

"Really?" James withdrew his phone from his pocket, fingers swiping as if pulling up his appointments. "I could have sworn you told me to meet you in your office this morning." He latched his eyes onto Q and his befuddled expression that resolved itself after a moment of thought.

"I believe that was to be tomorrow," he started slowly. suspicious. "But since you've come all this way." He hastily gathered himself and pushed past James toward a frosted glass door with "Quartermaster" in dark, block letters printed above the trim. With a wave of his arm, he gestured James inside, taking a final glance over his subordinates for any lingering glances before he pulled the door shut behind him. Bond wandered to the middle of the space, taking slow steps as if taking in the space for the first time with its industrial fixtures and furniture that heralded back to Q's university days; a secondhand couch with a tartan throw, thickly bound textbooks with creased spines on subjects ranging from quantum mechanics and coding languages to English history and anthologies of novels, and an unprecedented two mugs next to a personal assortment of teas. 

"You're looking much better." The sight of Q in a clean brown tweed jacket complete with elbow patches, tie not quite tightened to his neck under a navy cardigan, and trousers that didn't hug a single part of him made James wonder if the events of the weekend had really occurred. His skin was still pale but tinged a healthy peach, his lips a dusty rose, and his eyes held a sort of rested luster despite what the large mug of black tea had to say. The expression on his face held nothing more than what was customary between them in this space, all business and efficiency. James could see the refortified walls in his tight, upright posture that ensured he wouldn't take up any excess space, and he could feel his spirits sink at the possibility of never seeing the other side again with its mundane domesticity that felt safe 

Q stood frozen, his hand still on the doorknob as he considered how to respond. He could say 'thank you' but it wasn't quite a compliment, though it had all the makings of one apart from perhaps intention. "Yes, I'm feeling much more myself. Though I wonder why you went through the trouble of coming all this way to ask that." He approached his desk, setting down a handful of order forms to go over, loathing that they were still on paper.

"To lay eyes on you myself," he said, closing the gap so that only the standing desk stood between them. "It's easier to lie over the phone or through a text message." He pressed his palms to its surface, leaning into Q's space as the man lifted his eyes slowly up to meet James's, who squinted at him in study. Q swallowed, Bond's eyes pinning his hands to the desk and his feet firmly into the floor. How anyone ever escaped from his capture once he got his sights on them Q would never know. But two could play at his game, and Q wasn't infamous for his quiet rule for nothing. He turned down his chin and tightening his lips, grappling a hook into Bond's core and pulled the tether taut.

"Are you satisfied with what you see?" Without realizing, Q's hip shifted to the side.

"Quite satisfied." His smug smirk formed a lump in Q's throat, making it harder to swallow, harder to breathe. Was James flirting? Of course he was, it was practically his default setting regardless of actual romantic interest. Was Q flirting?! A man usually so meticulous, so mindful of his words and of coming off in any way other than professional, found himself unsure that he was still on that side of the line. He'd let James into his private life, blurring the lines between work and pleasure in a way that Q had vowed from the start not to allow. He had seen it happen in other jobs, only ever bringing about mess and tension, two things he did not have the slightest luxury of risking with Bond or any other agent for that matter. Compartmentalizing meant focus. Focus meant that everyone had their best chance of coming out alive. Q was fine being the accomplice, for the good of the realm, but he couldn't bear having blood splatter directly across his own hands. Not because of something so silly as a crippling, boyish crush.

Q took a deep breath in, bringing the scent of Bond's spicy cologne with it as his face twisted into an expression of melancholy yearning as he reluctantly sighed it back out. "What do you really want?" he asked, pushing himself away from the desk, busying himself with tidying that would serve only to turn his back to the agent. "You don't come down here flaunting your charms unless you want me to do something for you that could potentially compromise both of our careers."

Bond's brows grew close in confusion, his posture otherwise unchanged. "Flaunting my--"

"You're not the only one that does it. I think 003 is finally realizing that her feminine wiles are wasted on me."

"Double-O three...?" Bond's squinted eyes followed Q as he crossed the space, pausing mid-stride to turn back toward the befuddled James.

"Surely you didn't think that you were the only one who believes the false narrative that if the jock flirts with and flusters the nerd, they will do your homework for you? It used to think it was a sort of hazing that you military types engage in, but now it's a bit tiresome that you would think such outdated methods would work on me." A strange feeling made a home in James's chest, clinging to his ribs in a way that changed his breathing, only growing further when Q continued, sauntering slowly back to his desk with an upward, contemplative glance. "But perhaps I could try such methods." His gaze returned to Bond's whose heart stopped as Q's sage eyes met his own, inches away once more as he articulated each word. "Maybe then you would bring back my equipment."

James had seen that look out of Q hundreds of times: the tilted head that tipped his glasses just enough for his eyes to peer over the top of the frames, eyebrows raised expectantly and lips pursed to emphasize that he was finished and only now was it your time to speak. But in that moment, the eyes held a sort of fire, and James could see the suggestion of a smirk that savored each sound and let them linger on his lips and tongue.

But all the younger man did was shrug and straighten out his cardigan, thrusting away the veil of Anita that had temporarily concealed the Quartermaster of MI6. "Apologies, but I have a security briefing in ten minutes. Thank you again for your assistance this weekend." James broke himself free of his previous posture and watched as Q tucked a tablet under his arm and sent baffled Bond an innocent smile. "Perhaps we can talk later about..."

"Yes, yes." James interrupted, unable to locate a single other word. Q nodded and met him at the door, pausing momentarily to flash him an innocent smile. "Um...lunch?"

Q's mouth spread into a regretful but painless grimace. "Mondays are full of meetings that could very well be emails, so not today. Dinner?"

"Sounds marvelous." Q smiled and opened the door, ushering James out just as he'd come in. 

"Lovely, I'll send you an appointment. Have a good day, 007." The agent gave a nod, tucking his hands as deeply into his pockets as his trousers could manage, and walked away with an even swagger that forced Q to watch him go. Before any of the engineers could decode his face, he pulled the door shut once more, eyes wide as he grappled with what had just conspired. It had all slipped out against his better judgment, the partitions he'd deliberately constructed crumbled to bits, spilling everything behind them into a single pile of mismatched details that he wasn't sure he could separate again.

Because the conglomerate had just accomplished what a small but rapidly growing part of him had wished to do for years

* * *

_"Dinner with the Quartermaster"_

_Time: 19:00 - 21:00 GMT_

_Location: The Gable, 25 Moorgate_

_Notes: Casual attire suggested but not required_

James's phone pinged in the early afternoon as he was sat across from Eve on her lunch break after his debriefing with Mallory over his last assignment. The formality of the appointment given how it came about was so decidedly Q that it tipped the corner of his mouth upward. "What's got you in such a state?" Eve asked as she gathered another forkful of salad. 

"Have you ever been to the Gable?" he asked as he slipped the phone back into his pocket.

"In Moorgate? Once or twice. Q lives nearby, so we've gone for the occasional happy hour." James hadn't made the connection immediately, but now that she mentioned it, he did remember that Q's townhome was just a neighborhood away. "It's pub food," she said with a shrug. "Sometimes that's just what you need though. And there is live music and dancing sometimes. Why, have you got yourself a date?"

He wasn't sure how to answer immediately, still working out that detail for himself. What had he intended upon asking Q to join him for lunch? And when that was unavailable, why had Q raised the societal formality to meet over dinner instead of postponing for another day in a more casual setting? "Perhaps." He sat back in his seat to look at Moneypenny once more. "To be determined."

"What's her name?" she teased, eyeing him with her usual sweet and playful smile.

"Anita."

* * *

Q packed his tablet away into his bag as Eve powered down her computer for the night. "Eve, I hate that you're my last meeting of the day. You always get me tired, hungry, and annoyed." More annoyed today than usual, as his watch reminded him that he only had an hour before he was set to meet James, and it was a thirty-minute journey on the Underground to get there, leaving him no time to change. 

"But it's such a nice note to end on!" she reassured. Her positivity was a refreshing change to his usual interactions within MI6, which largely reflected his own coolness. He admired that a woman who managed some of the nation's greatest killing machines could have such an infectious smile. "Any plans for the evening?" she asked as they left Mallory's office behind them. "Snuggling with the cats and a bit of take away?"

"Actually, I think I'll grab dinner at the Gable. Got a bit of a craving." They entered the lift and when she hadn't responded by the time he selected the floor, he turned to see her with eyebrows raised and a sort of mischievous smile. "What?"

"You'll have to look out for Bond," she explained. "He told me earlier that he has a...oh how did he say it...'to be determined' date at the Gable tonight." Q had no idea what his face in that moment projected to her as a dozen thoughts ran through his mind in quick succession, mostly around that four-letter d-word and the fact that Bond hadn't dismissed it as a possibility in front of a coworker...in front of a woman!

"Really?" he asked, slowly, leaning back against the wall. "Well...I'm certainly not used to being the one collecting intel in the field, but perhaps I could bring back bit of gossip for your sake." The doors opened and they exited to the lobby, Q taking a detour with Moneypenny toward the car park.

"I believe he said her name was Anita, I got that much out of him." 

"O-Oh." The catch in his word turned her head. Q had come out to her years ago, and many of their happy hours were spent lamenting over their dating lives or lack thereof, but apart from James, no one at MI6 knew about his alter ego. "Just...not a name you hear very often these days. She's probably in her seventies."

"Well, we both know that he is hardly discriminatory when it comes to age." Her headlights blinked as they approached her Mini. After a brief hug goodbye, she crossed to the driver's side. "I expect details in the morning! Don't let me down."


	4. Chapter 4

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> "You're early."  
> "You sound surprised."

Q was used to the usual rush-hour crowd on the tube, packed in elbow to elbow with everyone from businessmen and women in their smart suits to chip shop workers smelling of grease and sweat. No one spoke apart from a polite "pardon me" or " 'scuse me" as the air whistled by on the outside of the carriage. Every once in a while he would recognize someone from the morning looking haggard after a full workday, their makeup a bit less vibrant, clothing a bit more wrinkled. The same people that slept on the journey into town tended to do the same on their way home, and Q always watched them in wonderment at their absolute trust of the people around them. Even before he carried sensitive and confidential information at his hip, Q never allowed himself to close his eyes on the Tube, resorting to loud music or word games on his phone if the exhaustion hit him after leaving the office.

But contrary to his usual Monday evenings following half a dozen appointments and meetings that left his inner introvert drained, he was wide awake, mind running faster than the train that sped toward the other side of the city and subsequently, toward Bond. The discussion with Eve replayed over and over in his head. He'd called it a date, but 'to be determined.' The fact that he had entertained it as an option puzzled Q. He'd always seen Bond as a poster boy for heterosexuality, more than once remotely playing reluctant co-pilot in his exploits with a target, each time coming away shaken and even more sure of his own identity. 

Then again, Bond almost seemed aggressive in his heterosexuality, a stark contrast to Q who spent every waking hour playing as someone who took interest in no one as a sort of defense. In his limited experience, sometimes it was the ones who went out of their way to prove one thing that really felt another entirely. 

He changed trains in Oxford Circus and found himself his fingers twitching, the nervousness making him crave one of the cigarettes at the bottom of his bag. He thought of lighting up as soon as he reached ground level, but then recalled back to Saturday. 'I thought you were smarter than that.' Bond was the first to touch on one of the few pressure points in his life that mattered, his own intelligence, and Q cared so much for his approval deep down that he had been tempted to wash the things down the drain after he'd left his flat. Even though he didn't follow through, the thought had presented itself and that on its own was closer to quitting than he'd ever gotten before. So if this was to be a date, he should hate to spoil it with the taste of a fag on his mouth when James-- _Get that idea out of your head!_ Q chided to himself. _Don't be so presumptuous_.

He had fifteen minutes to spare as the train pulled into the station, thankfully enough time that he wouldn't need to break a sweat to arrive on time. He loosened his tie and undid the knot as he moved with a small group up the escalator toward the street. He'd told Bond "Casual attire" in his appointment, though apart from removing the tie and undoing the top two buttons, there was little else Q could do for himself to go from "day" to "night" as Eve had explained to him in the past. As he passed a window that provided a decent reflection, he paused and took a moment to comb his fingers through his hair, shaping it into something a bit more manageable and clean after the wind and a day of exhausting meetings swept it in all directions.

The Gable was tucked away in a corner among the grand buildings in a way that one would miss it if not looking for it. Bond still had ten minutes before he would be considered late by Q's standards, though he seemed to run on his own kind of schedule. He set down his bag between his feet, thankful to have at least one weight off of his shoulders as another less physical burden replaced it. His hands fidgeted with each other under the table as he glanced at the menu, even though he always ordered the same dish and the thought of alcohol still made his stomach turn over, adding to nausea that had been mounting since the morning.

He hardly had time to settle into his nervousness before Bond's form filled the doorway. Q glanced down at his watch, doing a double-take as the man approached his table. "You're early," he observed as James sat down. 

"You sound surprised." Unlike Q, he'd either gone home to change or he had some sort of stock in his office, having traded his grey suit for jeans and a polo shirt that emphasized the size of his arms.

Trying not to stare too obviously, Q elaborated "Bond, I've known you for nearly five years and this is the first time you've bothered to show up when I've told you." That realization alone sent a quiver through his heart. He found this important. God, if only he hadn't spoken to Eve, he'd be much more at ease!

Shrugging off his point, James did a quick look around the space, lit in an amber light to make it feel cozy and warm. "I've never even heard of this place."

"Eve found it, actually. Nothing too fancy, I hope you don't mind." James scoffed, taking the drink menu in his hands.

"Why does everyone seems to believe that I exist solely on caviar and one-hundred-year-old scotch?"

"Is that shirt tailored?" James answered in the affirmative. "That's why." A waiter came over, interrupting a chance for James to retort, though Q could see the words behind his eyes as the man explained the happy hour specials and took their drink orders.

"At least I changed, per your request I might add." James's eyes followed as two glasses of water were set down between them.

"I left my office five minutes after you did and didn't return for the rest of the day. I didn't have time to eat, let alone go home to change." At least he could explain away the trembling of his fingers as he migrated them from his lap to the tabletop. He could feel James's eyes scanning him as he took a drink to fill the pause. "Problem?" he asked into the glass.

"I've just..." James sat back and rubbed his own chest between his clavicles. "I've not seen you in work clothes without the tie." The water went down painfully, as Q translated the gesture on his own bare skin. "Even on Saturday, despite everything else, you managed to get your tie and belt back on." He pressed his lips to his knuckles, a hint of a smug smile creasing his cheek.

"I suppose that's what a walk of shame looks like in your mid-thirties," he choked, setting down the glass just out of reach. "Must have some dignity." _I have a sinking feeling I wasn't the one to put those articles back on anyway..._

"Is it shame if nothing shameful conspired?"

"Oh, there was shame. If not at the time then as soon as you woke me up on my bathroom floor." Self-conscious, his hand reached up to cover the bit of bare chest and play with the fabric of his shirt. "But let's move on from that sore subject." As if a physical embodiment in a change in attitude, the waiter returned with James's martini and took orders for food. "What did you get up to all day?"

James sipped the martini, eyes gazing upward as if musing over the many events of the day. "Not much. Had time to change." Q smiled as he watched him set the glass down delicately and shift in his chair. "Though I did have a meeting with M."

"Get a thrashing about how you're single-handedly destroying my R&D budget with your constant neglect of my equipment?" James gave a single chuckle, knitting his hands together on the table.

"Perhaps he would have, had I not first brought up the subject of my retirement." Q's eyes went wide as the shock traveled through his chest. Bond, retiring? Sure, he had been 'in the game' for decades longer than most, but the man hardly showed signs of tiring or any desire to settle down. He was the embodiment of _I love the smell of napalm in the morning_. Q couldn't even fathom the thought of him in some cottage on the seaside, taking up some sort of mundane and ordinary hobby to pass his days until his liver finally caught up with him. He couldn't imagine MI6 without Bond in it.

"You're not serious?" James stretched the silence to take another drink, melancholy eyes falling to Q.

"My last assignment... _rattled_ me, more than it should have. I never felt so out of step. I'm sure without your handling, evac would have brought me out in a body bag." He might have well punched Q in the chest, as the emotional pain was the same, but he knew Bond was right. A dozen times the other handlers offered to relieve him, but he refused, staying awake for nearly fifty straight hours, at one point bullets falling so close to Bond that Q himself found himself ducking. When he had finally allowed himself to be dragged away, he'd only made it to the sofa in his office to close his eyes, his body so on edge that he was awoken by every conversation and footstep on the other side of the door. Only when Bond returned to Q branch with his kit and they lay bloodshot eyes on each other did either of them get any rest.

Q leaned forward onto the heel of his hand, taking his eyes off Bond and toward the tiny, flickering tea light on the table. "I suppose it had to come eventually in one way or another. Having control of your retirement as a double-O isn't a luxury afforded to all."

"Exactly."

"With what am I to occupy my time then, if not being cross with you?" Bond laughed, his glass levitating inches from his face as he diverted his gaze, licking his lips in thought.

"I could think of one or two things." 

Bond leaned back in his chair, and Q felt the toe of his shoe brush against the side of his calf. When the same toe started to graze his leg in soft, repetitive motions, Q felt every muscle in his body go rigid, contrasting James who looked exceedingly relaxed as he sipped his drink.

"Bond." He expected him to stop when addressed, as if he was doing it unconsciously, by complete mistake, but to Q's shock James only leveled his gaze on the Quartermaster with a pleased smile and kept on.

"Q." His voice vibrated throughout Q’s body, sending a sort of shock through his heart that could have been painful or pleasurable; his head was swimming too much to tell. He'd heard that tone out of Bond before, but only over the intercom. Even deeper than his speaking voice, it held a sort of hunger, and Q had always found it ridiculous and cliche as the third party from thousands of miles away. It was usually his signal to move from the passenger's seat to the back seat to disassociate from what was about to happen between Bond and his female target. However, now that the same tone was being directed toward him? He felt paralyzed and at his mercy.

The words ran through his head half a dozen times before he found his voice again. "What are you doing?" Unlike Bond, Q's tone and words were as familiar to him as the back of his hand. How many times had he planted his fists on his hips and demanded an explanation like a mother to their child? More than he should, as one colleague to another. He seemed to enjoy seeing Q frustrated with him, and the same was true still.

"I'm just giving you a bit more data for your incomplete assessment of me." In that moment, Q didn't know whether he wanted to punch Bond's smug grin off his face or kiss it. He was trying to sift through a million minuscule data points in seconds, efficiency hindered by his fight or flight response. 

"Assessment?" Q stretched out his own legs, soaking in the small amount of clothed contact like a virginal schoolgirl. When he was a junior engineer in his twenties he'd had his share of flings and a handful of relationships, but since national security became a focal point in his life, he found himself unable to trust a single civilian enough to invite them into his home and into his life. He and the rest of the country were at no risk of compromise on his watch. But it left him starved, with his own hunger inside of him that nothing could fully satiate. Little touches and teases during his shows served only as nibbles when his body craved a feast.

"As an old-fashioned, traditional, alpha-male." His fingertips skimmed against Q's on the tabletop, and he instinctively curled them away into hiding, his trembling magnified by the surge in emotion. He swore under his breath and heard James chuckle as Q's fingers unfurled and laid themselves hesitantly over Bond's first two knuckles as if they would explode in his face if not handled delicately. 

With a slow turn of his wrist, James cradled Q's hand in his own, his fingers stroking the lines of his palms and steadying his shaking. Q watched as his movements flowed, how his thumb circled the top of his hand, working out the tension he didn't realize he carried. The smooth motions slowed Q's thoughts into a stream flowing in one direction as if the two points of connection closed the circuit.

"What changed?" Q took a turn exploring the callouses and scars that marked James's working hands. He'd been guiding these hands for years, even shaped some of the scars with his amateur suturing work. It felt odd to be handling them so tenderly, and in such a public space as opposed to the safety of his office. James didn't speak immediately, instead slipping his longest fingers just under the cuff of Q's jacket to feel the throbbing vein on his wrist, which left Q no option but to do the same.

When he finally spoke, it was one syllable, and Q could hardly distinguish it from a breath in the entirety of the space.

"You."

Q's movement stopped, and he lifted his head to see Bond already looking at him. "Seeing you...liberated. It was as if I was seeing a butterfly with its wings open in flight for the first time." A smile tipped Q's lips at hearing James wax poetic. "And I saw what someone can be like when they leave MI6 and are able to breathe freely within their skin. I hadn't realized until that moment that I'd become so comfortable in the cover that 007 allows me, that I'd forgotten there was an alternative."

Q gave Bond's hand a reassuring squeeze, as they sat in stillness with their hands palm to palm."I'm hardly an example of living my truth."

"Perhaps not with the entire world. But are any of us? Double-O seven certainly doesn't do the shopping, could you imagine?" Q's grin stretched the length of his face as he gave a high pitched laugh.

Bonds face settled into something more serious. "On top of that, something else became clear through the events of the weekend." He maneuvered his hand to match up their fingertips. "That perhaps the feelings I had for you were not just ones of admiration or endearment, but something else." 

The fact that Bond admitted to admiring Q was enough to send him over the moon. The possibility of something more stopped his breathing. After half a decade of silently pining he was hearing words that he never expected to exist within the physical world. But he shook away the sheer elation and braced himself for the dose of harsh reality that would surely follow.

"I've never wanted the usual domestic life, but on Saturday, I left wondering what it might be like to live with certainty. I wanted to remember the layout of your kitchen and to figure out how you take your tea. On Sunday, at 7:30, I remembered that you needed to feed the cats. I'd never felt something like it before, and I thought retirement wouldn't be so terrible, so long as it felt like this...looked like this."

The low light of the restaurant, James's face looked a little softer, a little younger, and Q recalled the sight of him in his kitchen, stroking his cats, holding Q's hands around a mug of tea until he knew he could hold it. He seemed far from the man with red on his ledger, who had enemies on most continents and fucked without feeling. Not 007, not Bond, but

"James."

It felt sacrilegious coming out of his mouth, the feeling reinforced by the aghast look on Bond's face. In all the years, that word had never passed through the air between them, the two of them developing a uniquely intimate relationship that lacked their proper names. Bond and Q. Double-O Seven and The Quartermaster.

His hands tightened around Q's wrists, and the wide eyes of surprised clasped onto the set across from him. "Say it again," he demanded, voice low enough that Q felt the need to lean in.

The trembling traveled from his fingers to his heart and lungs, and as his brain processed the next possible scenarios, he forgot to breathe entirely. With a quiet gasp of an inhale, he swallowed his courage. "James." It felt like his tongue had never quite wrapped itself around the sounds before, and they got stuck in his throat on the way out, but Bond only seemed more pleased by it.

Bond shifting to the very edge of his chair to reach the middle of the table. "Again." Q could taste his martini in the whisper, mixed with the same cologne from the morning. As the heat from his exhale warmed Q's cheek, the rest of his body became ravaged with goosebumps in anticipation. 

" _James_."

Their lips brushed on the end of the word so softly that it felt like an accident, and Q gasped, withdrawing as the electricity bounced through his body, waking up his nerves and sending them into a frenzy. _Abort! Abort! You've gone too far!_

But the next thing he felt was James's hand on the back of his neck, drawing him back in over the table, and the connection was unmistakable. He didn't take Q's breath away, but quite the contrary; Q inhaled as deeply as he had all day in fear that he may die if he didn't. He wished to throw the table between them aside, clasp onto James, and drown in him.

James pulled away, leaving Q in a dizzy haze and hesitant to open his eyes in fear that he would only see his ceiling from his bed. He wanted to savor the taste left on his lips, of vodka, of mint, of Bond. Still, Q reluctantly blinked his eyes opened to see Bond's weathered face with a smile filled with the easy happiness of a Sunday morning that made his heart want to explode as every other fiber of his being vibrated with bliss. 

"I um..." Q started as he re-calibrated his facial expression into something he hoped looked composed as the thoughts in his head raced and fought to be recognized. _Compliment him! Say 'Thank you!' Kiss him again!_ But what won out in the end without consciousness of any sort was "God, it's been a long time." 

As Q turned his head away with a pained expression as if he'd just experienced something gruesome accompanied with an embarrassed sigh. _Really, that's what we're going with?! Christ alive, it's almost like you_ didn't _make the conscious choice to be single the last four years. How long have you dreamed this moment and we couldn't have used_ any _of that?_ But through the mental scolding, he heard a new sound from the periphery that lifted his head once more. 

Across the table, James was laughing, not chuckling, with teeth shining and shoulders shaking, and the euphoria elicited by the sight brought Q to the brink of tears. He could have lived on the scene until his dying day, but he interrupted it as he closed the distance between them once more, cradling James's face between his hands as he stole half a dozen fevered kisses from his smile as if it would keep him alive for just another moment. Even when they broke away a second time, Q couldn't be arsed to remember that they were in public. This felt bigger than that, and it crushed every lie he'd ever told himself to keep himself safe.

James's thumb traveled across Q's lower lip, the rest of his fingers holding Q's head up to face him as he worked to catch his breath while James looked impossibly composed. In a low voice, so close that Q felt the words on his lips, James breathed " _what a shame_."

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hope everyone is safe, fighting the good fight, and could perhaps find a bit of reprieve in this chapter. Comments and kudos are adored, and happy Pride!


	5. Chapter 5

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> "I should have thought he wished to die the way he lived."  
> "Shagging a nameless blonde senseless?"  
> "Take care, my love. That savors strongly of bitterness."

James found the smile on his face quite stubbornly persistent throughout the next day. Every time he attempted to erase it and put on his usually stone-faced neutrality, his mind would drift back to the sight of Q's beautifully bewildered face in the low lights of the restaurant, mouth agape and wide green eyes blinking. Or the feeling of his trembling hand reaching across the center console of his car to the inside of his thigh and his tongue explored the space beyond his lips as he stalled his departure onto the pavement outside of his flat.

The nervousness in all of its clumsiness only served as fuel for James's desire, as it made everything feel more authentic, reflecting the existence of real emotions with all their mess under the movements and words. For decades James had mastered scripted interactions between himself and his marks, knowing just what to say based on neuro-linguistic programming, persuasive methods, past experience, and all manner of rules of engagement that one could learn from a textbook, and though the goal was to develop them into something that felt natural and unrehearsed, that was never truly possible. There were always walls built around the words, built with much sturdier stuff than sentiment.

Anita would be perfect in the field.

A dozen times James considered taking the detour down to Q-branch, but he was sure each time that he wouldn't be able to contain himself unlike Q the professional who would perhaps be shaken but not stirred by him, able to cover up his emotions for the sake of duty. Instead, he followed his schedule and found himself, once again, in Mallory's office.

"Good morning, James." Eve greeted as he shut the door behind him. "How did it go last night?"

"Quite well," he responded, as the bashful smile plastered itself on his face once more despite his efforts otherwise. She responded with her own gleeful grin.

"So it was a date then?" James felt the sensation of Q's hands on his cheeks as his lips graced his with a handful of kisses laced with warm, thirsting lust, and his made his heart turn over within his chest. If he couldn't get a hold of himself in front of Mallory, he may as well retire this afternoon.

"I should say so."

* * *

On the rare days that London forgot that it was part of the British Isles and surprised everyone with a blue sky and warm sunshine, Eve liked to extract Q from the bunker that was Q-Branch and have him take lunch outside. Normally he would be more concerned about burning, or the wind, but today, he couldn't have given a damn about any of it.

And Eve took notice.

There was a small rotunda near the water, where they would sit on separate pedestals with their food perched on their laps. She watched as he extracted a takeaway box from his bag, filled with a familiar meal that they'd shared before. Taking notice of his unusually chipper demeanor, she raised a question as she picked up a piece of sushi between a pair of chopsticks. "Did you see Bond at the Gable last night?" It didn't take the most observant agent to see how he stopped his chewing for just a moment too long. 

"I did actually," he responded, not looking at her as he stabbed at his food with a plastic fork. "I heard he's discussed retirement with M."

Mallory had come out of his office in quite a contradictory state after that meeting. Bond was a liability of the highest order, but he was experienced and had served his country in one way or another since he was old enough to enlist. He'd been expecting him to retire since he met the man during his transition, not so subtly shoving him in that way when he came back still rum-soaked and weak in the joints from a months-long sabbatical. "I know, hard to believe, right? I should have thought he wished to die the way he lived."

"Shagging a nameless blonde senseless?" She covered her mouth to avoid spitting out her nigiri with her impulsive laughter.

"Take care, my love. That savors strongly of bitterness," she responded in a further heightened English accent once she swallowed. Only then did Q smile in her direction, his eyes squinted against the sun. "So is this Anita a blonde then?" This time, it was his gaze that shifted just enough to reflect conscious thought. _The formulation of a lie._

"Fake blonde. Roots on display." She had to give him credit. The garden variety civilian wouldn't have suspected a bit of falsehood in his statement. But she was no civilian. She hadn't worked beside Bond and gotten nothing but a suspension out of it.

"Mhm, well, roots aside, he was in quite the state this morning when he had his second appointment with Mallory to discuss his final assignment." She teased with her tone and could feel him watch her as she turned her attention back to her tray of fish.

"A state?" he asked, voice catching on the first sound. 

She nodded, taking time to chew and enjoy her maki as long as she could manage before answering. "Oh yes, on cloud nine. I've never seen him like that before." Like Bond, she saw the way Q failed to catch a timid smile before it ran across his face.

_Gotcha_.

She set down her chopsticks in the tray and turned her entire body toward Q, who had all of a sudden become fascinated with his left overs as he kept his head bowed and hidden from her matronly gaze. "Q. I expect Bond to lie to me. Not you." She saw him rotate the fork in his hand until he had it between his fingers like a cigarette, the digits twitching nervously. "Go ahead, you can smoke."

"No. No I...I'm quitting." Eve's eyes went wide in shock. She'd been badgering him since his promotion that he needed to stop with that stuff!

"So Bond is retiring, you're stopping smoking...next thing we know the Queen will come out as a lesbian and Charles will refuse to take the throne when she dies." He laughed and the fidgeting became less feverish. "Or, you could just tell me the truth that you and Bond went to the Gable together last night." That put a stop to every muscle contraction in his body, even ceasing to blink. "Mhm, thought so." _Don't underestimate the secretary_.

"Eve..." he fretted, a fearful, desperate look contorting his features. "Please be discreet..."

"I'm insulted that you feel you need to ask! Is the word 'secret' not in my job description? Not just saved for the intelligence sector." Despite her reassurance, his back still slouched and he breathed a heavy sigh over his food as he picked at it slowly. "What's the matter?"

He didn't answer straight away, mulling over his words as he shifted through the mixed vegetables. "It's just.." He paused once more and didn't speak for another minute, leaving Eve sitting patiently and silently as the water lapped on the shore nearby. "God...Eve I can't...I haven't been..." With another sharp exhale, he turned and looked her directly in the eye. "I'm over the bloody moon."

She lit up like a firework from her nose to her toes, with the contagious effect spreading to him though he tried to hide his bashful smile behind his hand. "Oh my god!" Her excitement only reddened his face further. She's known Q since he was a junior engineer, so she'd seen how his promotion had brought new walls to someone who was already profoundly shy, especially in the area of romance. He had a sharp tongue and a wit to drive it but MI6 had left him with trust issues that she thought no one would be able to break.

She hadn't even considered Bond. Q had a tendency to smoke more immediately after handling Bond becoming intimate with a mark. _"The irony is not lost on me, Moneypenny."_ She'd written him off just as he had, as a fiercely straight man. But she'd seen the way he couldn't contain himself in her office earlier, how he looked like a giddy child whose crush, an equally smitten Q, had just checked the "yes" box on a handwritten note. 

_Helpless sods...full of surprises_.

"You promised me details!" As he folded up the styrofoam container once more with food still inside, she knew there was a lot to tell. After years of him listening intently to stories of her successful and failed romantic endeavors, she found herself unduly anxious to hear about his own. For someone to get a reaction like that out of Bond of all people! "Did you dance together?"

"No, I was absolutely exhausted."

"Did he drive you home? Did he stay the night?"

"Yes, and no, he did not. Like I said, I was absolutely knackered by the end of dinner."

"Did you kiss at least? You must have done." The look over the top of his glasses told her everything she needed to know. "Q, you absolutely dog!" He pressed his smiling lips to his knuckles. "How on Earth did this even come about all of a sudden?" The smile behind his fist diminished, and she saw the fingers on his other hand begin to twitch against each other once more as he shifted in his seat uncomfortably.

"We err...met outside of work. By accident. At the Royal Vauxhall Tavern." That took Eve aback. She knew what sort of club that was. Did Bond? "During a drag show."

"That hardly seems Bond's scene." Crowded gay bar with men in short skirts covered in glitter? But then again it seemed there was a lot about Bond that she didn't know.

"No, but..." He paused, watching his own dancing fingers as he turned the words over in his head. "When he said he was meeting someone named 'Anita'...he wasn't being entirely untruthful." 

It didn't quite land at first, but when Q raised brows tightened his mouth, she seemed to grasp what he had thrown at her. "Q...you? Really?" With a small, timid nod, he loosened his features once more. "You're Anita?"

"That's Miss Favour to you, dear" he responded, a touch of cliched camp in his voice.

"Anita Favour. Isn't that something..." Shy, reserved Q, a drag queen? One that performed in public even, at one of the most famous clubs in the city? "Do you need clothes?" she asked, without much hesitation.

Q's head shot back to her in a flash. "What?"

"Do you need clothes? Unless you like paying money for your stage wear. I've got a couple of things that might work for you. But only if I can come and see you perform in it." The smile returned, inhaling deeply as a weight lifted from him. "I should wonder why you never told me!"

"I was trying to keep it separate from MI6. But that's Bond for you, always sticking his nose where it doesn't belong."

"When is your next show then?" Her phone pinged in her bag, notifying that she was needed back for her next appointment in fifteen minutes. The two gathered up their belongings and started back up the river to the main building, a bit more saunter in Q's gait.

"Second Friday of the month, so you've just missed the last one" he informed. "I should like it very much if you were there. I think you would enjoy it."

"Well, come by my flat and we can see if there is anything to suit Anita, that is if you can peel yourself away from Bond for an evening." His hand reached down and gave her's an enthusiastic squeeze. " _Dog_."

* * *

Mallory and the other suits had left two hours prior, Eve electing to stay back to finalize the details of Bond's final mission as Q sat dwarfed by the leather sofa across the room. "Should I build him the damn pen for his final go?" he asked after a period of silence.

Eve raised her eyes from the computer screen quizzically. "Pen?"

"An exploding pen. He seems disappointed that I only supply him with mundane things like pistols only he can use and wireless earwigs." They'd been going over the deployment for most of the afternoon together, scanning between his inventory and the nature of the mission.

"It sounds more dangerous than anything."

"Exactly why I haven't designed it. He's lucky I give him a Walther half the time. I could go on a fantastic holiday for the price of one, even with the government subsidy, and he insists on treating them as if they are disposable." Twenty grand out of the budget to replace 007's firearms alone in the last year, multiplied by a 30 year career... _"I'm one bad budget referendum away from telling him to fish the bullets out of his corpses and sell them for scrap."_

"I'd be willing to bet that he brings it all back for his last go."

"Or he'll go out the way he's always gone in."

"Shagging a brunette senseless?" His fingers paused above his keyboard, but he didn't give her the honor of a look before he kept on with a shaking of his head to hide the blossoming smirk. "No, you're right. I doubt you'd ever let yourself become senseless."

"Cheeky." He wanted so much to put his feet up on the sofa, but it felt wrong surrounded by leather and rich-toned woods, so he slipped his shoes off and shifted his position to rest the laptop on the arm of the couch. A moment later, he saw Eve's stocking webbed toes peek out from under her own desk, sans pumps. "I just want to send him out with something a bit...sentimental. Something that will carry him beyond the mission, you know? Under the table of course."

Eve rested her elbows on the desk. "That to me, says some sort of accessory...jewelry? Cufflinks? No, not really for this mission. A watch?"

"Maybe..."

"Ooh, have you developed those glasses with the real-time displays?"

He shook his head. "No, I've hit a bit of a block when it comes to the stability of the material without sacrificing comfort or making them look too dated." Another few beats of silence, but when he lifted his eyes, she had a glint of mischief in her own.

"...Eve?"

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Bit of a filler chapter, but damn am I a sucker for a friendship between Moneypenny and Q.  
> Comments and kudos are adored! Thanks for reading, and for all the lovely comments on the last chapter!


	6. Chapter 6

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> "You don't need me to tell you how brilliant you are."  
> "No, but it never goes unappreciated."

Three days later, James finally returned to Q-Branch with a sense of melancholy in tow. It was the only word he could find, harrowing back to the National Gallery when a young man with a haughty smile, unruly waves, and an over-sized coat took a seat next to him with a kit of equipment and changed the game forever.

_What do you see?_

He was to leave in the morning for the middle east, ending his career exactly where he had started it in some sort of twist of fate and coincidence. All he needed to do was extract a hard drive and replace it with one that looked physically identical. Simple enough to execute save for the fact that the hard drive was deep within a high security building owned by a local terrorist cell. No matter.

His final assignment had come more swiftly than expected, but then again, most agents didn't know they were on their last mission until they were in the thick of it, bleeding out as the handler called for medical evacuation that would come far too late. And though it made his soul feel heavy in his body, he considered it a bittersweet sort of blessing to be able to take stock and recognize the "lasts" he would be encountering in his career.

Strangest of all was his briefing with Q, a last and a first all at once.

He felt as if every set of eyes in Q-Branch were on him as he crossed the space to Q's office. _"Moneypenny knows..."_ Q had said over dinner on Tuesday. _"Because for an experienced intelligence officer, discretion is_ hardly _your strong suit!"_ Who else had taken notice? And why did he care? After this assignment he would turn in his badge and another young, sprightly agent would take over the call-sign of 007. The doors of MI6 would shut behind him and he would never see any of these people ever again. Who gave a damn if they figured out that he had an inclination toward men? Half of them probably expected it anyway, thinking he would jump into the bed of anything with a pulse. He pressed his thumb to the scanner next to Q's door and waited a moment for his system to recognize him and unlock the door.

The man was sat over a cluttered workspace with a pair of magnifying loupes attached to his spectacles as he finely handled something James couldn't quite see. "I'll be with you in a moment, 007," his soft voice reflecting the care in his movements. _Ever the compartmentalist._

James wandered silently around the room, committing the details to memory with an entirely different motivation. Among the textbooks on the bottom-most shelves, were a collection of novels, ranging from classics like Keats and Wilde to more contemporary pieces by Atwood, Gaiman, and Christie. The wall behind his desk housed half a dozen diplomas for mechanical and electrical engineering, computer science, and biomedical science from both Cambridge and Oxford, emblazoned with his full legal name that fit him about as well as most of his clothes. Given the fact that he never corrected James or anyone else for that matter, Q must have felt the same. Overall, the space prioritized practicality over sentimentality, lacking photographs of any kind, though even in his time at Q’s home, James had noted a lack of pictures as well. No family from what he could tell, no groups on holiday, not even his cats (though his phone would surely say differently). The only deviation of this trend was the carefully placed stickers on the back of Q’s laptop that cost as much as a used car.

He turned back toward Q as he continued to work in silence, getting a sort of pleasure out of watching his deft fingers delicately handle a pair of forceps with the precision of a surgeon, the same hands that trembled against his cheek and grew clammy in his hold. He knew that Q was exceptional in his work, but seeing the alternative made the sight of him deep in his element that much more striking. He wished he could photograph the scene and do it all justice. How the intense light of the desk lamp struck the soft, relaxed features of his face. How his heels hung on the support of the stool, crossed at the ankles while his back remained erect and proper. How his mouth tipped into a hint of a smile as his eyes gazed unblinking upon his work.

The cleanliness and order of a beautiful mind.

True to his word, Q returned to life after a handful of minutes, setting aside his instruments and handling a small object that glistened in the light of the lamp. "Apologies. Hope I wasn't out too long."

"Hardly long enough to steep tea." With a satisfied smile, Q crossed the room to remove a larger metal kit from a section of shelving labeled "007", which he set down on his desk before unlocking the contents protected by laser-cut foam.

"Not much you don't know," he started, looking over the items. "Palm encoded Walther, replacement clips..." He plucked a device not much larger than his fingernail out of the case. "New earwig, straight out of testing."

"Christ, I feel that I'll lose the damn thing in my ear canal."

"Well, I've been told that using the same technology used to correct hearing loss is 'too invasive' so I had to settle for developing something as undetectable as possible while also being removable." Q reached out and gently tugged James's ear back to open the canal before he inserted the device, sending a wave of shivers over James's body. Q smiled, deeply amused as his fingers ran a small wire on the underside of his helix. "There, that should do it." James shook and moved his head in all directions, at differing speeds, but the earwig stayed in place as if it were part of his own anatomy.

"Dummy hard drive," Q pointed out as James removed the device and replaced it to the case. "The only thing I _give_ you permission to leave behind. This will effectively install a virus that will eat up the system from the inside, as well as any computers connected to the target network, but only after 36 hours, giving you time to make an escape without it looking too suspicious. You bring the real hard drive back to me and we'll extract the data here."

That covered the extent of the case, but James felt that Q wasn't quite finished. "And lastly, hot off the press, is this." He pressed the "device" that he'd been working on just a minute before into Bond's palm. A simple, smooth, civilian gold ring with a single stone.

"I do hope you asked my father for permission first." he turned the ring over in his fingers, feeling its weight that felt expensive but not cumbersome. The inside showed delicate lines running around like fine threads on a screw. "I'm guessing there is more than meets the eye?" He slipped it onto his right ring finger, checking the fit, though coming from Q it came as no surprise that it fit perfectly as he opened and closed his fist. It felt as secure as the earwig with the slender wiring against his skin.

"The technology is available to the civilian population, I just...elected to make it a bit more sleek. Tracks your heart rate, blood oxygen levels, your location, and even how well you sleep" With a handful of clicks to his computer, he pulled up a window that displayed the vital signs he mentioned next to a map display. "A little added touch, the stone serves as the trigger for your distress signal."

"All that?"

"All that." He could see the pride in Q's smile, more than aware of the impressive feat he'd pulled off, creasing his eyes as he shut the case and locked it once more.

James reached out for the kit. "You don't need me to tell you how brilliant you are."

"No, but it never goes unappreciated." With a sigh, he opened his palms in front of him. "Do you have any questions, 007?" The look of pride became clouded by a more somber look carried mostly by Q's brows. The next time he withdrew the case from that spot on the shelf, a different agent would be receiving it, who may take Q's abilities for granted, having known nothing else.

"I don't believe so, but if I think of any, I know where to find you." With a pensive nod, Q leaned against his desk and shut down the program tracking James's ring.

"See you at eight?" James parroted a confirmation, and seeing an opportunity, leaned over the desk and planted a single soft kiss on Q's smile before turning on his heels with just a bit more pep in his step.

* * *

James had approached Q with a proposition midway through the week when he received his first mission briefing from Mallory, asking that Q see his final assignment through in greater detail than previously.

"You want me to drive you to the airport?" Q asked as Bond pulled him aside at the start of Wednesday, tea in hand.

"Provided you have a driver's license."

"Well, _someone_ needs to test drive your cars." 

James gave him a sideways glance as Q entered his credentials and entered Q-Branch. "We'll talk about that little comment later." He followed as the younger man made a B-line for his office, the rest of the engineers and techs booting up their workstations for the day. "But yes, I should like to be sent off by you, if it's not too much to ask."

Q set his bag down on his desk, staring James down as he extracted his computer. "Your flight is as _six_ in the _morning_ , which means you need to be at Heathrow at _four_."

"Yes?" James asked, as if oblivious to any sort of issue

"Which _means_ that I would need to take the Tube across London to your--" Q paused his speech as he registered James's pressing gaze that made him think a bit more before he spoke again. "Unless..." He remained in a sort of suspension as James approached his desk with calculated steps.

"Yours or mine?"

Q swallowed, mentally pressing any key to wake himself up again. "Eve told me of the state of your flat, which frankly, for a well-established man in his fifties, is appalling, so I'm going to say mine." He opened the laptop and logged on for the day ahead. "You can come by Friday at eight, packed," Q emphasized, typing away furiously. "It's already a bloody hour away, I'm not stopping once we leave."

He felt a set of lips on his temple, largely catching his hair, followed by a rumbling voice. "I'll be sure to make it worth your while."

"I'm holding you to that," he retorted in the steadiest voice he could manage, not looking up to James for another, drawn-out moment of silence. "I'm an engineer and a computer scientist. _I am not a morning person,"_ he jabbed.

James's face stretched into a squinting, flirtatious smirk. "Is it still morning if you don't sleep?"

"Have a good day, 007!" His blush betraying him over his stern look, James leaned down once more to kiss him, his hand finding the small of his back as he did so. Q was not awake enough to sort through everything that had just conspired as James left him in a flustered haze. 

All he knew was that in two days, James Bond was going to spend the night.


	7. Chapter 7

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> "Having sex to achieve an orgasm is like drinking your best scotch to get drunk."

Q found himself unable to function within his own home.

Since Wednesday he'd been frantically tidying, sweeping everywhere the robot vacuum couldn't reach, dusting off the surfaces, washing all of the neglected tea mugs, and attempting to rid the space of the smell of cats with air fresheners and candles. Why he was so worried, he had no idea. Had Bond not been in his flat a week before, nursing him up off a tile floor with sick on his clothes and alcohol on his breath? Even the most minimal of effort would be better than that.

But over the voice of his mother in the back of his head was Bond's own. _"I'll make it worth your while."_

There was exceeding little wiggle room for his intentions, and Q would be damned if he had his first encounter in years worrying if the sheets smelled two-weeks old.

Second to his apartment was how to present himself. He always changed out of his work clothes when he got home, but a t-shirt and sweats hardly seemed appropriate, so he found himself thinking far more about his clothing than he ever did before. A turtleneck would cover too much, a tie was too formal, a crew neck shirt too casual. Eventually, he settled on his shirt from work, unbuttoned at the top, under a comfortable, open cardigan. He'd never put so much thought into not leaving his flat.

Seven-thirty. The bed was made, the cats were happy and fed, all of the linens had been exchanged, and the kettle was boiling on the counter. But Q found himself unable to settle in and become comfortable. His mind continued to reel with far-fetched scenarios fit more for a romantic drama than real-life. Would he cross the threshold and immediately pull him into a fevered, desire-filled kiss? Would his hands first go for his cardigan, or perhaps to the buttons on his shirt? Would he pin Q helplessly against the wall, or perhaps the other way around, building up the wanting through immobility?

_You are a thirty-five-year-old man! Get a hold of yourself!_

His reveries were interrupted by a knocking at the door and his eyes immediately went to the clock, seeing 8:01. He tried not to think about the implications of it too much as he rose from the sofa to open the door.

"Evening," James greeted pleasantly, his case in one hand an a more pedestrian piece of luggage in the other. Q responded in kind as James entered and set his things down by a rack of coats and shoes. The anticipation of whatever was to come required Q to think consciously about his breathing, watching Bond's every move with the utmost attention for any hint of what was to come.

"Can I make you some tea?" he asked as his fidgeting body carried him to the kitchen, though it wasn't truly a question as he already had two mugs set out with portions of loose leaves already prepared. He could feel James approach from behind as he poured the boiling water into the mugs, expecting to feel a hand on his hip or his mouth on his neck.

Instead, he sat back and waited, leaning against the opposite counter as he watched Q with an air of casual ease. "Milk, sugar?" Q asked as he turned with a mug in each hand and a smile on his face that wavered when James approached to take the cup from his trembling hand.

"Black is fine." The tilt in his head signaled for Q to close his eyes, preparing for an impending kiss. He felt the warmth of the tea and his breath on his face, his chest fluttering in yearning. But the connection didn't come. He merely opened his eyes to see a pair of icy blue eyes squinting with a teasing smile. "Thank you." He brought the mug to his smile and took a cautious sip, his eyes never leaving Q's face as he tried to manage the rising emotions within him. Only then did he notice the ring still on James's finger, and his eyes fixed on it to avoid the penetrating gaze of his blues.

"How...how are you feeling about tomorrow?" he asked, hiding his developing blush behind his mug. James swallowed and his face reflected a sort of deepness of thought as he set the mug down on the counter beside him.

"I try not to get too emotionally invested in my assignments. Tomorrow is no exception, but I suppose there's a sort of finality to it that demands reflection." Q waited for him to continue as he savored the taste of Bergamot on his tongue. James crossed his bulging arms, still looking deep in contemplation, and Q couldn't help but stare as he bit his lip behind the comfort of his tea. "I haven't stopped to think about it." His eyes came once more to Q, who felt his heart stop. "Too much else on my mind."

With steps so slow Q had time to set his own tea to the side, James closed the distance between their bodies but it was Q who connected their lips, unable to restrain himself any longer as his body buzzed with desire and apprehension. The agent's strong hands found Q's hips and braced their bodies together as a fit of passion overtook them.

"You said 'it's been a long time'," James mused between kisses down the side of Q's neck that made his knees feel weak and his body feel warm. "How long?"

The answer didn't come to him straight away as he wracked his brain for information among the cloudiness of lust. "Before...my promotion. He said...I worked too much." The kisses paused as James took a moment to lay eyes on the man breaking into pieces before him at the slightest touch.

"No trysts? Dates? Nothing?" The break gave Q a moment to breathe therapeutically and regain his wits.

"Only with Queen and Country." A gasp slipped from his lips as James's hand worked from his hip under his shirt, lips pressed to his temple as he breathed in his ear.

"She's a bitch of a lover."

The thought skipped in his mind like a record as James's hand skimmed across his stomach. "I'm not...not even _keen_ on women... _ohh_."

In another time, Q would have enjoyed the contact while also keeping most of his wits about him. However, he hadn't realized just how much he'd neglected this part of him, a part that jumped in excitement as it finally was recognized. Every touch seemed to wake up Q's body as if dusting off a relic long misplaced to reveal the bold colors underneath. He found himself welcoming the dizziness he had quickly associated with Bond as a sort of escape into a vulnerability he had for so long pushed away. Q had always scoffed when he heard people describe love as a drug, but the way that Bond scrambled his mind and made his limbs turn to lead while also making him feel weightless? Perhaps he was the foolish one.

Determined to regain some amount of control over his facilities, Q's hands found their way underneath James's pullover, requiring him to remove his hands from Q as the man slipped it over his head in a tangle of limbs. The waves of pleasure simmered into more of a manageable pulsing from a frenzied current, and as soon as James's arms were free, Q seized his forearms and forced him against the nearest wall. "Apologies," he breathed onto James's smirk before he tightened his restraint and pressed his lips to his neck and his body to his torso. "Out of practice."

He could feel James's muscles tighten underneath him, his hips coming to life as Q's hands unbuttoned his shirt from top to bottom in a painfully deliberate slowness. "Could've fooled me."

"Always a flatterer." Q's fingers traced the contours James's abdomen, toned beyond his age would suggest. He'd always had a preference for athletic types, but Bond was built far more than anyone else he'd been with, the scars of his service tough beneath his hands. More marks revealed themselves on his arms as he stripped away the sleeves and Q couldn't help the " _Jesus,_ " that rode his breath at the sight of the godlike physique presented to him.

He saw Bond's body shake with the laughter that followed, the blush on Q's face front and center as he lifted his eyes back up to the smile he only saw for a moment before it was back on his own embarrassed grin in a fevered kiss. "You have no idea how invigorating you are, in those little moments."

"The moments where I make an arse of myself?" James's hand worked up his neck, sending a shiver down his spine that was only magnified by the presence of his lips and breath a moment later. A moan leaked from his lips as the shiver turned itself into a rising heat within him, moving with James's hands as they explored beneath his shirt.

"If that's what you would like to call it, but I would call it 'absolute authenticity'." He wrapped his arms around Q and guided him away from the kitchen with care that Q's feet remained underneath him until they reached the sofa. "Which I don't get the pleasure of experiencing terribly often."

"Well I've got plenty of that to go around," Q piped up as James's opposite hand grazed the inside of Q's thigh and elicited a moan and twisted his features into an expression that showed the battle between pleasure and tension within him.

James's fingers began to play expertly at the buttons of Q's shirt with each of them coming undone effortlessly. His lips traced down the skin of Q's midriff as he exposed it, building the pleasure within Q exponentially until the gasping replaced any sort of inhale, his fists braced against the cushions, and his excitement showed beneath his waistband.

" _James_."

The man lifted and opened his eyes at the sound of his name in a voice that made his common name sound spectacular, and was taken by the sight ahead of him. A man usually so technical, so meticulous, so determined to take up as little physical space as possible, now undone and writhing beneath his hands, head thrown back to elongate the clean lines of his neck and exposed torso. Tease as he did about Q's youth, there was no denying the beauty of him with his healthy, rosy glow across his skin that felt like silk beneath James's fingers.

He wrapped his fingers around Q's hips and shifted him further down the couch to lie him flat. "God, Q." He pressed his lips just below his ear, taking in the scent of the little amount of product still left in his curls. "I never thought you could look like this."

"Why? You said it yourself, I'm a warm-blooded man." Q's hands slid down James's flanks until they came to rest on his ass, which felt just as toned as it looked.

In response, James's let one hand slip to the inside of Q's thigh, feeling his blossoming arousal. "I must remind myself some days, that you are not an elaborate AI developed by Six." Q's grip on his behind tightened as James applied a bit of friction to the outside of his trousers. "With elaborate circuitry...an unparalleled wit...and the most brilliant hard drive of a mind MI6 has ever had."

"Is it terrible that I find that so stimulating?" Q asked, voice increasingly strained.

James lowered himself to carry his own weight while allowing his torso to meld with Q's own. "I find how you say my name 'stimulating' darling," he rumbled against his lips, watching as Q's glasses fogged with the breath between them. "Perhaps one of those most used names in the world but you make it sound novel."

Q shifted beneath him until they laid side by side, balanced precariously on the couch. "And what else pleases James Bond?" he asked, arms wrapped around his bare back.

The other man paused a perplexed look crossing his face. "No one has really ever asked."

"Well that's rude," Q retorted, brows furrowed inward. "You need to take more considerate lovers."

"Like you?"

"Perhaps." He flashed a sweet smile that James couldn't help but return. James found himself uncaring that the "action" had been put on pause, as the feeling of Q's arms securely around him brought him a sort of pleasure not normally experienced.

Brushing his hair out of his face, James asked "And what does Q enjoy then?"

"The build-up," he responded immediately. With another shift of his legs and an extreme amount of balance and care, Q moved to straddle James's hips as he sat back to finally remove the unbuttoned shirt from his arms. "Because having sex to achieve an orgasm is like drinking your best scotch to get drunk." Shirt removed, he turned his attention back to Bond and grazed his lips from the fine hair below his navel, through the lines of his sturdy core, and up to his jawline. "There's so much more to enjoy."

"Say 'orgasm' again," James demanded through a satisfied smile.

Q shook his head with a chuckle at his seemingly ridiculous request but conceded all the while as his lips kissed the outer edge of his ear. " 'Orgasm', James."

"How do you make that sound filthy?" He wasn't immediately graced with an answer, as Q's fingers cradled the side of his head as his lips gave special attention to his ear, which sent an amount of pleasure through him that surprised him.

"Because you made the grievous error of virginizing me." The way his lips lingered on the airy sounds made James's heart race in a way he never expected. This voice had been with him for years, telling him what to do and giving reassurance as well as the occasional scolding. But that Q felt so far away. That Q never gasped in ecstasy. That Q didn't have a tone that sounded like red wine. That Q didn't call him "James."

A chirping noise that came from neither of them interrupted the sounds of their breathing as Ada wandered over and cried before jumping up onto Q's back. " _Goddammit_ ," he swore under his breath as James couldn't help but laugh lowly, stroking his hair that he was quickly coming to love even more than before.

"Should we move?" Without a word, Q sat up and Ada jumped from his back, scurrying into the kitchen in hopes of receiving treats while Q escorted James up to his bedroom on the next floor, with all of its clean lines and minimalist furnishings that reflected a room less used than some of the others.

_Oh_ how James wanted to change that.

As Q shut the door behind him to keep the cats from interrupting further, James braced him against the surface, arms pinned to the wood as their fingers intertwined together. He savored the vocalizations from Q's mouth as he pressed their hips together and swiveled side to side with gentle rocking, feeling a rising urgency in Q as his muscles tensed and trembled and the sounds from his mouth increased in intensity. 

" _Fuck, James_ ," Q breathed, struggling against James's grip as a pressure of pleasure within his core and radiated outward until he turned into a broken record that increased James's own arousal until Q felt himself swept away to his bed where he found himself side by side in a tangle of fevered limbs once more. The dizziness clouded everything apart from the immediate sensations around him--James's cologne, the calloused hands on his skin and in his hair, the sound of their rugged, desperate breathing--his body completely consumed in a state so long dismissed, years of pining culminating in what felt to Q like a supernova.

"James," Q uttered with the last modicum of steadiness he had within him as he cradled the man's lined face between his hands. "You can take my glasses off now." 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Comments and kudos are adored! I hope this was a realistic, loving scene written in a state of quarantine. Hope you all are well and thank you for sticking with me!


	8. Chapter 8

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> "Time to go, 007."

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Shoutout to TwasBrillig, mellmagee, and JuJuBee because ya'll are the real MVPs

Some soldiers carried photographs of their sweethearts as a sort of motivational bolster to come home safely. Others had a piece of jewelry like a necklace or simply a promise to keep.

James, having none of these things, relied on the determination to return to Q's bed and see his sleeping form again.

He'd thought that the sight of Q's release, with his usually tight mouth wide and his spectacle free eyes glazed and glistening with climax, combined with the sounds he attempted to stifle until they reached a volume he'd never heard out of the younger man, was the most beautiful thing to behold. To see his paralyzed body shivering with pleasure for what felt like an age before it settled into the stillness of _la petite mort_ felt as necessary to life as water, and just as refreshing.

In the moments that followed, James lay next to Q as their breathing settled with the only point of contact as a single hand. He watched as the lines of Q's face slowly relaxed until he thought he'd fallen asleep without a word. Only when he heard him clear his throat did James's own eyes flutter open again to see Q staring unblinking at the ceiling. "Q?" he beckoned with a tired voice.

He turned his head, eyes still shining, toward James, and gave him a shy, sweet smile. "James," he responded in a low, silky tone that caught James off guard in the best possible way.

"Are you alright?" He watched as Q's chest completely rose and fell again before he simply nodded and gave him a silent laugh. James shifted his body and cupped Q's cheek as he lazily kissed him once more. "You're brilliant."

"Thank you, darling. Because I'm lucky to be forming coherent words right now." He closed his eyes as James's thumb gently stroked his cheek, and after a time of silence followed by a steadiness in Q's breath, James knew he'd truly drifted into sleep.

A sort of instinct for him to keep watch awakened in James as he watched Q slumber, and he noticed that in every new state he found Q, he also found a new fondness. Each new layer of vulnerability revealed a less guarded, more easy-going man until he felt that he was seeing Q's very essence before him. He realized as he tuned in to the sound of Q's soft breathing just how hard, how uptight, how restrained Six had made him, and James felt that he had been robbed of the opportunity to see the alternatives for far too long.

_Retirement won't be so bad, feeling like this...looking like this._

* * *

Q was _not_ a morning person, especially when ripped out of his best sleep in years.

He moaned and groaned as he attempted to drown out the sound of his alarm coming from his pant pocket across the room. " _What the hell..._ " he breathed, pushing himself up through the fog in his brain. When a laugh came from his side, he found himself wide awake, the events of the previous day rushing back to him in force as his heart rate spiked. " _Jesus_ , James."

"Good morning to you too." He wrapped an arm around Q, the alarm still beeping away as he pulled him close enough to feel his rapidly beating heart. "I'm sorry, I didn't mean to startle you," he explained, sealing his apology with a kiss. Q settled into his form with a heavy, contented sigh.

"A welcome surprise," he stated, fighting to not close his eyes once more and fall asleep in James's warm, secure embrace. A heaviness fell over him as he realized why he was waking up at two-thirty. There was always a sort of apprehension that came with deploying a double-O, but the finality of the mission mixed with the events of the evening multiplied the dread within Q's heart and he tightened his own grip.

James's fingers weaved themselves into his haphazard waves and moved in long strokes in reassurance. "Let's get some coffee in you before I let you behind the wheel." But while Q nodded in acknowledgment, neither of them moved from their desperate hold. Only when the alarm grew loud enough that Q thought it may wake the neighbors did he give James a final squeeze and roll out of bed to turn it off.

He retrieved his glasses as James sat up on the edge of the bed. He reached out for Q's slender hips and ushered him into the space between his knees as he chastely rested his forehead on Q's bare abdomen in a sort of reverence. Q bowed his head and placed his hands on James's hair, letting his palms brush over his crop, neither of them speaking, but each knowing what they wanted to say. The moment remained in suspension until Q's hand reached under James's chin to tilt it toward his face. A lump lodged itself in his throat, and he hoped the low light and sleepiness disguised the moisture coating his eyes. "Time to go, 007."

* * *

As they retrieved their clothing through rewinding the last night, they found themselves once again in the kitchen, where Alan had made himself quite comfortable on James's discarded sweater. Q emptied the two cups of tea long gone cold, replacing the contents with freshly brewed coffee. It all felt like deja vu, save for the solemnity to contrast the previous anxiety.

The cool night air had chilled the Aston Martin to its upholstery and Q couldn't help but shiver as he slid into the driver's seat while James packed the boot with his luggage. He ran a hand over the dials, the steering wheel, the gearshift, all of it bearing a sort of familiarity. James sat down to his left, and the door closed to the world beyond as Q turned the key and the car revved to life and he shifted it into first.

"Taken like a duck to water," James pointed out as they started down Q's street with no guidance or instruction.

"Have you forgotten that I know this car even more intimately than you do?" James watched how Q's hand rested on the gearshift, able to manipulate it with easy, almost practiced movements. "When I said I test drive the cars, I was not speaking falsely."

"Yes, tell me about that." He was pleasantly surprised at how he smoothly navigated the empty city streets.

Q looked both ways before advancing through an intersection. "A job needs its perks. Though I was much more gentle with this old girl than I usually am. No drifts or donuts in the car park or rough suspension tests. Just...ran some errands, took her on the motorway to test the acceleration...that sort of thing."

"Q the more I learn about you..." He didn't need to finish the sentence to get a smile out of the Quartermaster. "She's a beautiful thing. I have you to thank for giving her a new life." He only noticed the shifting in gears by the change in sound from the engine as they started onto the motorway.

"A fun project, albeit stressful at times. I haven't built a car from absolutely nothing in a while, let alone researched the parts, hunted them down..." _Paid for them_. "But so long as the work is appreciated and it all functions as needed, I would say it was all worth it." He turned his eyes from the empty road and gave James a brief smile. Now at cruising speed, James lay a hand over Q's on the gearshift, stroking the top of it gently with his thumb until Q flipped his palm and intertwined their fingers.

Compounding on everything he experienced, James found the sight of Q behind the wheel of his car— _their_ car—just as beautiful as his sleeping ease or his climactic euphoria as he combined the concentration and diligence of the Quartermaster with the mundane calmness of Q as the lights reflected on his glasses and the road passed in silence between them.

Heathrow was hardly bustling first thing in the morning, so Q managed to find a place to stop right next to James's required terminal. He stopped the car with a heavy sigh, and once again, neither of them moved from their seats in any sort of rush. Q kept his gaze straight out the window as he spoke. "When you get there, you'll receive a mission briefing from the local operatives. Afterward, you will sign on with me before you're delivered to the cell." James watched as his fingers tapped and fidgeted against the steering wheel, the only betrayal of a steady facade. Another sharp exhale and Q finally turned his attention to James. "Good luck, 007."

James unbuckled his seat belt and crawled across the console to cup Q's face in his hand as their lips connected in a desperate fervor. Q's trembling hand landed on his shoulder blindly to pull himself closer, for just a moment, before the connection broke and they breathed in silent proximity, each of them stroking the other's face softly until Q spoke hardly above a whisper

"Please bring everything back in one piece."

* * *

For the first few minutes, Q couldn't drive away. He sat in park with the car running, hands at ten and two, forehead at twelve as he turned over the messy implications of mixing work and pleasure over in his head. In one week he'd gone in too deep. He'd gotten too involved, and now he was sleeping in the bed he made in his lover's car. The assignment was nothing James couldn't handle. Mallory had intentionally given him a simpler mission for the greatest chance of making it to retirement on the other side. But the atmosphere felt just as dire, if not more, than James's most taxing assignments.

When the anxiety brought on by the proximity of an airport started to encroach on the dread of the assignment, he knew it was time to move on.

Thankful that he had to foresight to bring his work bag to avoid being confronted by his flat, he drove straight to MI6. "Welcome home, old girl," he muttered as he pulled into a parking space and removed the key. He evacuated the car and walked quickly to avoid sinking into another state, retreating into the bowels of the headquarters to a space that allowed him distance, where he was the Quartermaster and James was the agent. 

No more, no less.

He had hours to kill before James would log in, so he drowned himself in work, responding to every email, signing all of his paperwork, ordering replacement parts, and finally pouring over the new intel from the field agents on the ground in James's destination. The information put him at ease, but only just. The security didn't seem as intense as Q had originally believed, but it was certainly not free of risk. And ideally, he wanted James to get in and out without a firefight. This was not the mission for a blaze of glory exit if Q could help it.

_For once in your bloody career, please play by the rules._

At 15:00, Q emerged from his office to enter the handler's wing, where his second, Siobhan, was already setting up the connection between them and Bond. "Good afternoon, sir." He responded in a like kindness and took his place at the head of his station. "We have video confirmation of 007 landing and being picked up at the airport by our operative. I imagine he'll be logging on soon." 

Q pulled up the blueprints, live camera footage, security code records extracted by their planted devices. Each new window drove the rose color from his mind and replaced it with a series of ones and zeros as he closed in on the task at hand.

Get 007 in. Get 007 out.

Get James home.

Others filtered in as they finished their tasks until Q was certain that the entire on-site stuff of the branch was in the room when the speaker crackled to life. _"This is 007, signing on."_

Thankful that he could sense a difference in attitude from their separation this morning, Q activated his intercom. "Copy, 007. Home office signing on." On his personal laptop, he drew up the program connected to James's ring, a pleased smile crossing his face when the location tracker put him within the vetted lodging. "Did you receive the briefing upon your arrival?"

_"Affirmative."_

"Do you have any questions, 007?" He could feel a sort of apprehension, an expectation in the air of the room, as if everyone was holding their breath.

_"Negative."_

Siobhan chimed in from his side. "Double-O seven, transport has arrived to deliver you to the target."

Q pushed away the dread that felt so determined to seep into his bones, and he clung to every sound of life that came through James's earpiece from countries away. He glanced around the cozy space, with only enough light to see their own hardware, filled with shadows of people who gathered to witness the rare, planned event of an agent's final mission. "Once more unto the breach?" he posited in an attempt to inject a bit of levity into the heavy air.

A low chuckle through the speaker sent a ray of light through Q's heart. _"Once more."_

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thanks for reading! As always, comments and kudos are adored! Thanks to the regular commenters, I see you and I love writing for you!


	9. Chapter 9

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> "Once more with feeling, 007."

_"Once more unto the breach?"_

Once more.

"The breach" was actually two hours away from his drop point, much to his discontent. He usually didn't mind the hours of waiting and travel, but now an agitation sat in his limbs like an unreachable itch. He was hardly a man to fidget, not like Q with his fingers, but the thought connection brought his thumb to the outside of the ring on his finger to stroke the smooth metal as the humvee bounced along the unpaved terrain.

_"Security camera footage will be tampered with as you approach. Unfortunately, I cannot access the locking mechanisms on most of the doors, but I can relay the codes to you."_

"Sounds very analog for Q-Branch."

_"It's as if I'm telling you all to pick the locks instead of bashing them in. Much less enjoyable for me."_

His tactical gear camouflaged him as the vehicle slowed to a halt and James evacuated into the desert night. The target was a mile away, leaving him to advance on foot for their best shot at not raising alarm. As the van drove off, James advanced into the inky blackness of night

James could feel the hard drive pressed against his thigh, and he felt it a comforting and constant reminder of the disembodied voice in his ear. Every time his Walther lit up green in his palm or he felt the ring tighten in his fist, he remembered that back home, someone was waiting for "James" to step off a plane, and the gadgets were his way of making sure he had his best shot at that possibility. But before he could be "James" again, before he would hear his name from a voice that made it the most beautiful word in the world, he would need to be "double-O seven" to that same voice and the man attached to it.

_Once more._

The darkness around him felt as if he was sinking deeper and deeper into an expanse of ocean with the pressure building around him, threatening to crush his muscles into immobility. "Q?" he called out into the expanse in a tone no louder than his speaking voice.

_"Yes, 007?"_ He clenched and relaxed his fists, hating the bone-chilling night and the gritty sand and the nauseating dread in his core as he marched toward potential bodily harm for the last time. "Double-O Seven, are you well? I'm detecting a change in your vitals." He didn't feel well, no. Though he'd made sure to eat at the airport, he felt shaky and dizzy while his heart continued to accelerate and urged his feet to run. Despite the cold around him, he could feel sweat beading upon his skin.

He swallowed the trembles that threatened his voice back into his core. "I'm just verifying the connection."

Q hesitated on the other end of the line for just a moment too long. After so many years, he could catch James in a lie far better than the other way around, but he didn't let on to the mixed group of others that could all hear the words they shared. _"Loud and clear."_

The outline of the target compound solidified ahead of him after twenty minutes of walking through sand that felt as if it swallowed each footstep he took. 

_"Security footage is down. Permission to approach. Once more with feeling, 007."_

_Once more._

_Once more._

_Once more._

* * *

"There's the target computer...do I need to walk you through removing a hard drive properly?...Perhaps not but my embossed diplomas taught me how to avoid brute force in disassembly, at least most of the time...Yes, just there, that should do it...You're doing splendidly...I'll take that as a compliment...Please handle the hardware delicately...Remember that everything you say is on the official record...Yes, yes, you're very clever, now prove it by getting out of there in one piece...If you don't I swear I will make some unfortunate modifications to your beloved car...it's not our car...Focus on the task...You're nearly there, so nearly finished...

...Bond are you alright?...Double-O Seven, can you hear me?...Have we lost contact?"

"All systems appear in working order, sir. Seems he's frozen, not us."

"Everyone that isn't Siobhan needs to leave right this moment...Bond what's the matter?...We're detecting a change in your vital signs...You just need to replace the side panels and your exit is clear...Double-O Seven?...Bond?..."

A frustrated sigh, laced with concern, followed by quiet muttering.

"Dammit, James. I haven't had a cigarette in a week and it's about to show if you don't get a move on."

Ragged breathing over a resurrected feed. An exhale of relief. A sideways glance, pretending not to notice.

_"Really?"_

"Yes, really."

_"Because--"_

"Don't make be for nothing."

_"Then stop using words of finality."_

A pause, a realization.

"Bond did...did you just have a panic attack?"

_"Is that what this is?"_

"Well you're heart rate is still elevated."

_"Breathing is much more difficult."_

"Sounds like a panic of some persuasion to me. Unfortunately, sometimes the only solution is working through it, and now is one of those times."

_"Not exactly how I wanted to cap off my career...but better than...bleeding out..."_

"I need you to stay out of that headspace. Your exit is clear."

_"Distract me then."_

"Any preference as to the nature of diversion?"

_"I'd like to hear more about your sister."_ A quirked brow. _"About Anita."_ A painful swallow. _"What other performances has she done?"_

"Erm...she hasn't been performing for terribly long...only a handful of times...Left there and second door on the right....She leans toward songs by P!nk, Christina Aguilara...though she's trying to lean into some more English artists...Code is 2-8-9-7-1-3...How are you feeling?"

_"Don't ask, keep talking."_

"Anita is actually hosting her next show." Dancing fingers and darting eyes. "Should I tell her you're coming?"

_"So long as I can have a table at the front."_

"Are you sure about that? Opens you up to being part of the act....Code is 8-2-4-0-1-5...turn right..."

_"It would be my pleasure."_

Licking of lips, disguised in the dark.

"Coast is clear for evac."

_"This may be the only mission I've not fired a shot."_

"That was the idea."

_"How anticlimactic."_

"You had a panic attack."

_"Can't help that a double-O's last mission usually ends with a bit less warning."_

Elevated vitals.

"Get out of there."

_"I'm out."_

"No, out of _there_."

_"Right."_

A slam of a car door. Heavy breathing. Catching breath. Steadying hands. Wheels spinning on the ground.

"Well done."

_"Well, it's done at the very least."_

"As a reward, Eve is currently arranging priority travel home for you."

_"Splendid. Are in-flight drinks included?"_

"I should say you've earned it.

_"Shall I see you at Heathrow?"_

"You shall."

_"Marvelous."_

A sigh weighed with melancholy.

_"Double-O Seven..."_

Hesitation. Pursed lips. Build up before a release.

_"Double-O Seven, signing off."_

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I hate writing missions so much. Apologies for this content after being so patient for an update!
> 
> Comments and kudos are adored as always! Hope you all are well!


	10. Chapter 10

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> "Perhaps you shouldn't keep your handler up all night before a mission."

No matter how much he willed himself otherwise, James couldn't settle his heart rate as the Humvee carried him back toward his drop point. It had all been too clean, too easy, and history told him that any moment now they would strike a land mine or aerial forces would open fire. There was still so much time for so much to go wrong, especially when it felt that for the first time in his career, he had absolutely everything to lose.

His thumb stroked the metal around his finger feverishly, both of his hands wracked with tremors that mimicked the feeling embedded within his rib-cage. Every muscle in his body refused to relax, preparing to react to the threat that would surely fall upon them before he could step foot on English soil again. Would the driver of the Humvee go rogue? Would the plane crash? Maybe the hard drive in his pocket would just blow to bits. He'd seen it all over the last three and a half decades, but at this point, it was his heart giving out that would surely end him.

_"Double-O Seven?"_

The voice was quiet as if spoken in a room where another lay sleeping. His mind could register the sounds but it took far too long to remember what they meant.

_"Bond, are you there?"_

"You're...you're not Q," he finally managed, keeping his own voice low.

_"Q is reluctantly having a bit of a lie-down, only because I said I'd cover for him."_ Moneypenny. That was the voice. Moneypenny. _"I'm sensing a bit of distress from his monitoring program, thought I would check-in. Are you alright?"_

"I'll be fine. I just need to be back home." All the while he fidgeted with the ring, turning it around his finger until the tiny threads threatened to rub away the skin underneath.

_"I've secured a charter for you and you're luggage has already been delivered to the airport. You'll be back in London first thing in the morning. Shall I order you a mimosa for the flight?"_

His head buzzed without any sort of logic or reason, consumed by thirty years of terror coming to ahead at the end of it all. "Something...stronger would be preferred." Any reply from Eve was muffled by the fog in his head, as the weight of the world finally collapsed around him.

* * *

"Welcome home, James."

As if woken from hypnosis, everything solidified with a single word, from the cold morning rain pecking at his face to the sight of streetlights casting spots upon the cars driving on the left side of the road in the arrivals terminal. He pushed away at the hangover-like cloudiness within him, only then focusing on the dark, curly-haired figure stood in front of him with an umbrella.

"Thanks for the charter," he croaked with a voice that felt unused for years. The concern in Eve's eyes told him that he looked about as good as he sounded.

"It's the least we can do. Are you sure you're alright? You look a bit...pale." Her hand reached out and pressed against his forehead, but the result didn't seem to alarm her. 

"I'll be fine." Always fine. But as he took his first conscious steps toward Eve's Mini, he started to believe it more and more. England. Home. Just one thing... 

"Where's Q?" He tried not to think of the possibility that he'd gotten into some sort of accident or that the old car had betrayed its maker in the middle of the night on the M4. 

As if sensing the tension in his question, she turned down the volume on the radio and started off away from the terminal. "Back at Six," she reassured. "Hopefully still sleeping. I may have...neglected to wake him up as promised." With a quick glance toward him, she turned a smirk toward the motorway. "Perhaps you shouldn't keep your handler up all night before a mission." 

A smile threatened his own lips, but he diverted his gaze to the passing countryside to focus as much as he could on every detail he could drink in. He mentally read out every sign and mile marker, counted every passing vehicle, just to keep his mind occupied and avoid the absolute chaos he'd been previously buried in.

He pressed his thumb to his ring, and his mind drifted to the sight of slender fingers, delicately assembling the elaborate circuitry within. A face so at ease that it lacked any sort of creases that ran so deep in James's own skin. A smile of pride that knew it's own value and anyone else's opinion didn't really matter. A man so brilliant he had no idea how James ever managed to take him to bed. 

He hadn't the time to dwell on it. They would return to Six after half an hour of nearly silent driving.

It was hardly a hero's welcome at seven on a Sunday morning at MI6 and James couldn't be happier for it. The lights of the halls were dimmed for the off-hours of operation, just enough for the few technicians and interns that scurried around Q-branch like moles in a tunnel with their eyes turned down. In his civilian clothes, no one paid him any mind as he walked between the rows of empty desks to the Quartermaster's office, where Eve swiped him in with a finger pressed to her lips, emphasizing the need to tread lightly as she shut the door behind him.

The entire office was lit by a single desk lamp that left the perimeter of the room in shadow. When he entered, he could see the monitoring program attached to his ring still running on Q's desk, evenly spaced beeps reflecting the calm that enveloped him the closer that they got to Six until they could mimic the second hand of a clock.

The only other sound was that of even, easy breathing from the darkened edge of the room, where, as James approached, he felt his heart warm at the sight that he worked to remember through every panicked moment from the time he stepped into Heathrow airport. 

Q lay stretched out on the couch, his glasses in his hand that rested on his stomach that rose and fell like a tide. He'd unbuttoned his cardigan but left his shoes on and tied, telling James that he hadn't planned on sleeping for too long, but he obviously needed the rest. He yielded to the temptation to run his fingers through his tousled waves to push them away from his relaxed face, which made the younger man stir and sigh deeply while his eyes remained closed. The butterfly in flight, now landed with its brilliant wings open and still.

James could have stayed there forever and been perfectly content. The thought surprised him.

With a final stroke of his hair, James pressed a kiss to Q's forehead, and only then did the stirring of his body include his eyes flickering open to reveal a confused grogginess beneath. "Bond?" He didn't need to respond before Q brought his watch an inch away from his face to see the time. "Shit...how did you get here?"

"Moneypenny," James answered simply as his fingers continued to wrap themselves around the black locks. Another swear slipped from Q's lips, followed by an apology that James caught with a soft Sunday-morning kiss. "It's alright. Wouldn't want you driving if you're this exhausted anyway." He glanced upward at the rest of the well-worn sofa. "Got room for one more?"

"That depends," started Q with a tint of his usual cheeky tone as he set aside his glasses on a nearby bookshelf. "Your kit. Open it there," he ordered, pointing downward to the floor. James obliged and he watched as Q shifted his body and blindly brushed his fingers around each of the pieces, from the hard drive to the earwig and each of the clips. He knew the equipment like an extension of his own body and seeing it all brought James the same piece as the sound of a morning tide. 

After his assessment, Q closed the case and reached his palm up and out, which James instinctively placed his own hand within. Q's finger found the metal around James's before his grip tightened. "Come on," he ushered as he shifted his body toward the back of the sofa to make room for the agent. "Even though it seems that I owe Eve a tenner."

James lowered himself to face Q, bringing up his legs until there was no clearance between them. "Oh, ye of little faith."

"Faith? Hardly. Call it years of history." The two of them settled into the little space they had, faces so close together in the darkness that their breathing warmed each other. "Congratulations, 007. Seems you've unlocked retirement."

"Seems so. I didn't think I would start enjoying the benefits so immediately." Q breathed a laugh, and his exhaustion riddled hand found James's cheek, stroking the stubble in silence as James kept his gradually adjusting eyes fixed upon him and their chests rose and fell in opposition.

It could have been a minute or an hour before Q finally spoke again. "James." He perked up at the sound of his name. "If I were to hold you from behind, would that be alright? Or would it feel like you were being restrained?"

"You're exceedingly cautious," James replied, only making Q sigh.

"I prefer 'considerate'." His hands made long strokes up and down the length of James's back. "I had to talk you through a panic attack from hundreds of miles away. I'm not taking any chances at bringing up anything unsavory." As far as feelings he didn't often experience, "touched" had to be one that was foreign in James's world, but Q had always had a way of surprising him

With a smile on his face, though he wasn't sure Q would see it, he responded "Knowing that it is you, I should be alright."

"You would tell me if it wasn't, yes?" Q immediately inquired in return.

"Yes," James sighed as he carefully turned his body to face away from Q. As his back pressed to Q's chest, he felt a set of arms wrap around his mid-torso, hands crossing just below his chest. He applied no extra pressure to his hold, apart from letting his head fall just behind James's own.

If James felt like a set of frantically vibrating strings, creating a cacophony of irrational fears and needless anxiety, Q's arms around him served to stop the buzzing instantaneously like a hand around the neck of an instrument. The sensation of his fully expanding lungs against his back and the security blanket-like embrace around his torso caused James to finally breathe deeply and therapeutically as if he'd been holding his breath for the last two days. 

How had he missed this for so long? Q had been staring him in the face for the last five years, and yet it took a chance meeting in a bar to bring them to the couch James had only half noticed every other time he'd entered this same office. Had he not danced to the back of the bar, not been caught off guard by the sight of James, not been followed out or dropped his cigarette in the dark, not called him the next day half unconscious and hungover...had any of those things been different, nothing would be the same. He'd still be living in a state of ignorance, though far from bliss.

The right words failed him, so he opted to lay in silence as Q's breath warmed the back of his neck and subsequently, his entire body down to his very core

_"Is this alright?"_

For a moment, James wasn't completely sure if the words were in his own head, where Q's voice usually resided as a sort of conscience or guiding force. But once he registered the sounds as vibrations against his back and heat on his neck, he exhaled even more tension from his body. He turned his head as he could, just able to catch a glimpse of Q, who, reading his mind, shifted upward to gift him a brief but tender kiss. _I want to kiss these lips and be held by these arms for the rest of my life. And now I have a chance at just that_

_Welcome home, James._

"This is perfect."

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Could be the end, but I still have a couple of chapters left! For a fic that was originally about Q as a drag queen, I've surprised myself by putting remarkably little drag into the writing, but that will be remedied! Comments and kudos are adored, stay well!


	11. Chapter 11

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> "I'm sorry, have we met before?"
> 
> "A face like yours is impossible to forget."

"So how did you land the responsibility of hosting this perceived spectacle?" James had asked over an evening cup of tea in Q's back garden as he stroked a sleeping Alan's back slowly.

Clutching his mug between both of his hands, Q explained "It was my idea, the collaboration I mean. So it was recommended that I take the helm." Despite his casual air and open posture—the stretched-out legs in track pants and cotton dressing gown over a soft t-shirt—James could sense a tension within him. He watched as his lips remained pressed together, gaze diverted outward to the shrubbery as the tendons on the back of his hands stood rigid like cables beneath his unmarked, pale skin. 

"I'm looking forward to it," he responded, trying his hand at reassurance. "You'll be wonderful." Just as Q opened his mouth for a rebuttal, James continued. "And if you're not, Anita will be." The younger man's shoulders relaxed and he caught James's gaze with a shy smile. He could command a room, yes. He could direct someone with limited visual data and give counsel in the most dire of circumstances. But public speaking? Q didn't become the Quartermaster of MI6 by being modest, but if he could avoid holding an audience, he would. 

Which made Anita all the more intriguing. She existed only within the realm of performance, like the limelight was her energy source and the roar of the crowd purified the air she breathed. She was unburdened by decades of people telling her who she was, what she could do, instead acting as a prism that magnified the parts of Q that lay hidden to most of the world until they were fantastic beams of radiance. And the more time James spent in Q's private company, the more of these beams he saw, without the makeup and glitter to conceal them.

Eve joined him at the small table after work, settling with an anxious smile on her face and martini in hand. She asked how retirement was treating him ( _I know I need to find a hobby_ ) and filled him in on updates at Six ( _Your successor is exceedingly competent. Her name is Nomi_ ). It all felt so normal, and yet so distant. Thankfully, he didn't have much time to stop and think about it before the house lights dimmed, the volume of the audience lowered, and a number of burlesque dancers of all shapes and sizes took the stage as a sultry voice pumped through the room.

Each dancer got a couple of hollers and cheers as they sauntered about in their feathers and stockings, but while they moved with the lyrics of the music, none of them seemed to claim the singer's voice as their own, as if they were merely backup for the main event. James turned to look at Eve, her anticipation obvious as she clasped her hands in front of her smiling lips, eyes glowing with expectancy. She managed to express outwardly the exact feeling that James felt within him, until it exploded out with her cheers of excitement that took her out of her seat.

James on the other hand, was absolutely floored at the sight of her, held immobile, paralyzed by his sheer amazement of the spectacle in front of him.

Bedecked in a dark corset, tinted stockings, and a cascade of golden blonde curls topped with a coquettish bowler hat, Anita burst through the curtain to the reception of a roar. Eve reached out and gripped his wrist, watching with mouth agape as she strut out to the front of the stage to join the other girls with their choreographed body rolls and hip sways. Her heels forced her to place her weight forward, constantly keeping her in a posture of confidence as if she were Wonder Woman.

Anita was a phenomenon all on her own, just as she had been the first time James had seen her. But now he had the added amazement of knowing that under the stockings, hair, and glittering cherry red lips was his unassuming, modest, bespectacled, competent Q.

When she turned around, James noticed that what had previously seemed like trim on the bottom of her corset wrapped around the back to become two motifs of hands on her surprisingly ample bottom, something that set her further apart from the other girls on the stage as if James was at risk for looking at anyone else. Every time her eyes caught James's over her shoulder, he felt like he'd been shot in the chest but he wanted to cry out " _Please madame, may I have another!"_ She held his gaze for an eternity as she sank slowly to her knees and ran her hands down her inner thighs until she threw her head back in orgasmic show. 

" _I know it's me they've come to see; my pleasure brings them to their knees_!" The only reason James wasn't was because of the chair beneath him.

From his kneeling, Q kicked his legs off the stage, dangling and allowing them to point toward the spotlights as he laid back and offered himself fully to the heat of the spotlight. The little thristing glances he got from James fueled him with a desire that further drove every moment alongside the powers of adrenaline and stilettos. In a maneuver that frightened him every time at rehearsals because there had been too many falters, the seven of them rolled off the edge of the stage and planted their feet on the floor in front of the first row of tables by some sort of performance miracle. How early had James arrived to get a table front and center?

_Are you sure about that? Opens you up to being part of the act._

_It would be my pleasure._

Well, he had asked for it.

Q's hands flew to the table as the music landed on a hit and he tried his hardest to give Eve's joyful expression some attention, but his eyes always came back to James and his bewildered and absolutely taken face. The last time they had been this close during a performance, Q had lost his nerve, and both forgotten where he was while also being entirely too aware of the state he was in. Now, he couldn't imagine pulling off this piece without James there. To hell with everyone else! Every shimmy and shake, every tease and temptation, it was all for him. Breaking his script, he reached out and stroked the side of his cheek and he could see James short-circuit behind his eyes, unable to move as he sauntered back up the stage as the music faded away, replaced by a thunderous applause.

The other performers blew their kisses and shimmied off to behind the curtain, leaving Q completely alone on stage. Taking careful, silent steps around the space to retrieve the microphone, he used every ounce of his acting ability to simply mask his fear and summon Anita's voice that he and Eve had work-shopped over the past few weeks. He took a moment to glance in her direction. "Well, that was something now, wasn't it?," he started, fanning himself with his hand. "Let's hear it again for the ladies." _Buy more time, steady yourself._

"Alright darlings, that's quite enough, we do have a lot to pack in this evening." He settled into this new, whole persona as a chuckle rippled through the crowd. "My name is Anita Favour, and it's my utmost pleasure to welcome you to a quite special night here at the RVT, where the Real Queens of England will be joined by the Darling Dykes Burlesque troupe for a one-night only engagement, which I promise it will leave you absolutely...titillated." He moved as if he were submerged in water, hips swaying loosely as he crossed the stage. "Our first performer is quite near and dear to me, so by all means, make her work for it. It's Bella DaBalle!"

Sneaking away behind the curtain once more to the sound of welcoming cheers, he tried to catch his breath but the shape of the corset made it that much more difficult. Out of his bag, he dug out his phone to study what he'd prepared for the next performer, only to see two text messages come in as he did so. One was from Eve, consisting of a handful of photographs that he couldn't believe were him, head thrown back, hands stroking the artificial curves of his body and just oozing more sexuality and confidence than he felt he ever presented. The second was from James, and Q stared at the words longer than he studied his script, consuming them as if they were the only thing that would keep him going.

"I _'m speechless_."

* * *

"Let us take a note from the Americans and tip your entertainers tonight. It takes a lot of money to look this cheap, and shots don't pay the rent. We'll be back with more salacious talent after this convenient intermission just long enough for you all to make a trip to that lovely chip and pin machine at the back."

As the sea of bodies undulated out of the room for fresh air, a cigarette, or another drink, Q placed himself within the last group. Off the stage, he felt more unstable in his boots, and hands brushed against skin that never saw the light of day, sending uncomfortable jolts through his heart as he pushed himself toward the bar. As the bar tender slid his usual shot toward him, another voice projected over the general din of the room.

"Make it two! And put it under 'Bond'." A touch on his back felt more grounding that all the previous contact, and Q unconsciously leaned back into James's broad hand before he could even see his face. As he turned his head, James's lips connected with Q's neck in a way as distinctive as his fingerprint, planting a seed of wanting in his core. "I'm sorry, have we met before?" Q asked in Anita's low, velvety tone.

"A face like yours is impossible to forget," James replied, mouth so close to Q's ear that his breath caught in Q's own throat. "Though without your glasses, I almost didn't recognize you." A bright laugh broke his disguise, and even with the dramatic distortion, James recognized the smile beneath the gloss. Their eyes never left each other's as Q's delicate fingers plucked the shot from James's, raising the small glass just below their gaze.

"Cheers." As Q's lips touched the rim of the glass, James found himself transfixed upon them and the way that the scene happened in slow motion, his tongue lightly joining in the kiss as he tipped his head back with the utmost intention to expose his neck as if experiencing intensifying pleasure. He couldn't help but swallow as Q did, even though his own drink remained full in a trembling hand as Q's chin leveled as slowly as it raised. 

"What's the matter, darling?" The words sounded like the taste of rich chocolate as James felt a warmth blossom within him. "You're looking a bit...flustered." Shivers replaced the initial warmth, the empty shot glass having been replaced with James's stubbled cheek. Q closed the limited distance between them and guided James's palm below his waist and to his bottom, where the man's fingers fit the motifs of his corset with a bespoke exactness. "Quite flustered."

Q heard the thud of a full glass hitting the bar, followed by the feeling of a second hand mirroring the first. Even within James's hold, Q felt nothing if not in complete control, as if he had James on strings that only he could pluck. As the man leaned forward to taste the alcohol that glistened across Q's lips, he pulled away just enough to see James's pleading, desperate eyes. "Now now, can't risk smudging anything." 

Perhaps it was the low lighting of the bar, Q's ignited imagination, or the fiery liquor. Or maybe James really did mouth a silent please. Whatever it was, it fueled the heat within Q's heart and quickened his pulse, James's fingers tightening around his bottom. 

The shot sat lonely on the bar, waiting desperately to be had, just like the man who ordered it would by the time Q was finished with him.

Making no effort to escape from James's hold, Q reached between them and plucked the drink from the bar, downing the liquid slowly and deliberately to feel the warmth and confidence swell within him, making his hips sway smoothly to the pulsing music.

"Dance with me," Anita demanded with a breath to James's ear, peeling the man away from the bar as if a siren of the sea. 

While Q's joints moved with the ease of youth and alcohol, he found that his partner felt stiff beneath him. "Come now James, I've seen what these are capable of." His hands fell firmly to the waistband of his jeans, pulling him closer in hopes of leading the movements himself. 

Thanks to the quality of his tuck and the restrictive costume, it remained easy for Q to appear cool and unaffected by his partner as his slacken face began to glisten with the heat of hundreds of bodies vibrating under the lights. Their frames moved in tandem until the heart beneath Q's chest quivered with wanting, directing him to curl his manicured, painted fingernails around the hem of James's shirt and promptly remove it, only to be quashed by the little amount of logic remaining to move them upward and into James's growing crop.

"You're gorgeous, darling." All traces of Anita gone from his speaking voice, he spoke as one half of their partnership to another as his embrace softened into something less controlling and more tender. James's eyes lifted and showed an expression that told Q that he should say that more often. As his hand fell to the back of James's head, he found himself unable to hold himself back any longer, and leaned in for a kiss in the middle of the undulating crowd, its nature a foil to the environment around them.

Q didn't care if James accidentally emoved his wig. He just wanted as much of his body to touch him as humanly possible. Makeup could be fixed in a pinch, or maybe he would just leave it smudged. He wished that he would emerge between each act a bit more disheveled. Anita wouldn't mind. She knew her worth.

Oh what the hell.

"Backstage, now."

* * *

_Speechless_.

As dim bar lighting made way for warm morning sun, and the deafening beat of music became the lilt of birdsong and quiet breathing, James found himself robbed of the appropriate words to articulate what the sight of Q did to him. Stripped out of the colorful makeup and flamboyant costumes, Q somehow managed to be even more astounding. Perhaps James internalized the sheer privilege of seeing Q without his spectacles, vulnerable and bare aside from the duvet wrapped around him. It was a luxury few would ever experience.

Approaching the bed with caution, James leaned over Q's frame to plant a kiss on the side of his neck, withdrawing just as Q's shoulder rose to meet his ear in protest. With a loud inhale, Q's body stirred to life and swatted away at the disturbance, to which James couldn't help but chuckle lazily at his attempt.

"Rude," greeted Q simply as he settled into the covers once more. He sighed heavily and pried his eyes open to look up at a smiling James. "Good morning." He paused for a moment, concern over his previously content features. "It...it is morning, right?"

"I'd call it mid-to-late morning, but morning nonetheless." Pleased with his answer, Q reached beyond James to retrieve his glasses that James so carefully placed on the side table, contrasting the nature of the rest of the events from the previous evening.

"How long have you been up?" he asked, question punctuated by a yawn.

James's fingers couldn't help but stroke Q's haphazard morning curls. "About an hour." Q leaned into James hand, not unlike his own cats. "I woke up to your stomach growling."

Q's eyebrows grew closer as he protested. "You did not."

"I did so." James reached down to retrieve his watch, which had spent the night next to Q's glasses. "You did tell me...eight hours ago that you were starving, and then you didn't eat anything." A playful smirk emerged from tired lips.

"That's not entirely true," Q quipped. James leaned in and placed his lips over Q's smile.

"That doesn't count." He could feel his heart rate increase with excitement as the sensations from the evening washed over him with the sunlight. "But I did make breakfast, which does count."

Q reluctantly pulled himself out of bed and James into his arms. "Is this to be the routine then? You rousing me from unconsciousness and making me breakfast after my shows?" The previous teasing gave way to an innocent look that betrayed his youth, with hazel eyes glistening in expectation and a smile boyish and hopeful in a way that broke James's chest wide open in the best way possible.

He couldn't help planting a sunny morning kiss onto the sleepy smile. "I'm game if you are."

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thanks so much for your patience! I'm going to be posting an epilog and then this will b be my first finished fiction in over a decade! Thanks for sticking with me!


	12. Epilogue

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> "What's wrong with the eighties?"  
> "Oh, absolutely nothing. After all, they produced me."

Even after moving in with Q, James had no idea where he kept his drag wardrobe. It was as if after every show at midnight his metaphorical ballgowns turned back into tweed blazers and his lashes into his trademarked spectacles. There wasn't even a single speck of glitter to be found within the flat, let alone a pair of heels. But as far as James was concerned, what Q pulled off was nothing short of magic, and he knew better than to ask how he performed his tricks.

"I just realized," James started as he set down a plate of dinner in front of Q. "Your birthday is coming up."

"Only now you realized?" It gave James an initial pause, but the cheeky smile on Q's lips calmed his chest.

"I just _realized_ that your birthday is on the second Friday of the month." Q spread his napkin over his lap and looked at James over the top of his glasses. "And I was wondering if you were performing." He poured a glass of wine for each of them before sitting down across from Q.

"Some days, I wonder if you like Anita more than you like me," Q mused as he took a sip of wine. Over the past few months, James had noticed a bit more of Anita seeping into Q's public self, manifesting itself most clearly in the look at stopped James's heart in a beautiful way and compelled him to think before speaking again. "But no, I will not. I'm planning on going to the show, but taking a night off." He turned his attention to the food and continued "Plus it's eighties night, and despite growing up in the eighties, it's...not my cuppa tea."

"What's wrong with the eighties?" he jabbed in jest as he sliced into his chicken.

"Oh, absolutely nothing. After all, they produced me." James's own lip tipped upward at the sight of Q's self-satisfied smile.

"I was in secondary school when you were born, Jesus." In secondary school adjusting to life as an orphan in his crumbling ancestral home. "Listening to Queen and Journey...AC/DC. While you were listening to Beethoven in your mother's womb."

"Mozart, actually. And you've just said it, haven't you? The eighties were dominated by male artists."

James knitted his brows together over his plate as he took a bite. "Not true!" He protested. "Whitney Houston, Tina Turner?"

"Women of color, I don't tread on that ground."

"Joan Jett and the Blackhearts? Sinead O'Connor?"

"Too punk, too sleepy."

"Bloody hell, Madonna? Celine Dion? The Cranberries?" Q tended the silence between them with a long sip of his chardonnay.

"I'm not doing it, James. I'll give some of the other queens a chance. I believe I've been in every show since you showed up." It was true, and James had seen every last one of those performances. He'd seen Anita as the feminine iteration of Q himself in a performance of "The Bullpen," and a regal alter ego to the song "Girl Gang." Then there was the return to the burlesque attitude with a group performance of "Lady Marmalade," and he dipped his toes once again into the comedy queen pond with a performance of "Last Night" by Lucy Spraggan, heralding back to the feelings of the aftermath of their first meeting. At first, he'd gone for Q alone, but he'd started to enjoy the presence of the other queens, though never quite so much.

After another beat of silence, Q continued "If you're so passionate about the ladies of the eighties, maybe you should cinch your waist and wrap your lips around their music for four minutes." James replied only with a scoff.

* * *

Of course, James fell ill on his birthday, leaving Q to get ready to go out with Eve all on his own as he pulled a blanket over himself on the couch. "James, are you sure you don't want me to stay in? You've hardly moved today." He'd already gotten dressed in one of James's t-shirts and a pair of fitted jeans which made him feel twenty-years-old instead of his newly acquired forty. _If I wasn't an 'old queen' before, I certainly am now_.

"No darling, I'll be just fine. You've already done so much." Eve grabbed her coat from the rack and looked back toward the agent.

"Can we pick anything up for you?" With a silent shake of his head, Q pushed back his hair and planted a kiss on his forehead, away from his potentially contagious lips.

"I won't stay out long," he reassured, eliciting a protest from James to do the opposite and an assurance that he will make up for his birthday once he felt well again. "Okay, well, you know how to get a hold of me. Do that before you call 999 if you can help it." A final goodbye and the pair headed out onto the chilly October street to Eve's car in order to head back toward work just hours after leaving.

Q hadn't fought the drag night crowds in months, used to sneaking backstage as soon as he could before the spectators began to arrive in droves. Instead, he and Eve pushed through the throng just to get to the bar, where Eve ordered a pair of cocktails that Q could smell the alcohol on an arm's length away. "To you, you old dog," Eve toasted with a sly smile as their glasses clinked satisfyingly together. _James would love this drink_ , he thought his face contorted into a grimace, much to Eve's amusement. "You're not driving tonight, and you only turn 40 once. It only goes down from here, darling."

"So I've been told. Look at James." Although, dating him couldn't be that horrible. It got him out of an empty flat and very much cut down on his risk-taking behaviors, just as James had managed to kill his smoking habit.

The familiar synth intro to Sweet Dreams started through the room as the house lights dimmed, revealing Q's own drag mother Kitty Couture bedecked in an unruly mullet and layers of animal print, lace, and fishnets as she hit every note with the intensity of the music video of Vogue. Q settled in his seat at the bar next to Eve and watched with awe, taking in the women who refused to let her age prevent her from being an exceptionally fierce performer as she got the audience to join in with the lyrics and raise the energy of the room to get the party started for the evening. _James would love this_.

The alcohol helped him get out of his head and gradually become less preoccupied with the man on his couch back home, instead feeling every beat within him until he was up and dancing with Eve in the middle of the dance floor by intermission. It was an odd sensation, dancing with his heels on the same level as his toes, but his hips figured out the mechanics easily enough within the ballads, while his mop of hair banged about to the rock anthems. It almost filled him with envy that he wasn't up there soaking up the lights, but with Eve at his side, he could hardly say that he wasn't enjoying himself.

During intermission as Eve waited with Q at the bar for his next drink, one of the queens he was closest to sashayed up next to him in a sequined gown hardly able to contain her Dolly Parton-esque chest plate. "Hello darling," she greeted, kissing the air next to his cheek. "What a sight to see you in your civies!"

"It's his birthday!" Eve immediately interrupted over the booming music as she handed him an amber-colored cocktail. Q rolled his eyes and pulled Eve to his hip. "Ima, this is Eve. Eve, Ima Sohardt."

"Nice to meet ya, dear." Her American accent set her further apart from the other queens. "Your birthday, you say? What are you now, nineteen?"

"If only! Though it would make my relationship with James quite suspect." Everything about him felt more lubricated, from his joints to his speech. "Bugger got himself ill so he couldn't come tonight."

"What a wanker!" The vernacular sounded so foreign in her accent, Q couldn't help but double over in a laugh. "Can I buy you a shot?" Before Q could even answer, Ima had leaned over to rest her chest on the bar, ordering his favorite liquor that he sometimes kept in his drag bag to enjoy between acts, which the three of them 'cheers'ed to and downed in unison, the usual forgotten by his tipsiness.

The lights blinked to signal the end of intermission. "Oh shit, I gotta get back. Have a good one! I'll look for you on the dance floor!" She scurried off, leaving Q and Eve to push their way back to the middle of the floor for Kitty to begin the second act.

She strutted to the center of the stage and cocked her hip to the side. "Bitchin, you're all still here." Her attempt at an American Valley Girl voice bought laughs from the more inebriated crowd. "Now, people...I just heard from a little bird that one of our own has made another journey around the sun." It took her no time at all to find Q, and he felt as if he sobered up in a single moment. "Miss Anita, is this true?"

"Unfortunately!" he called back, not liking how exposed he felt out of drag.

"Now Anita, how could you not tell your own mother? I could have gotten you a gift!" She scoffed and pushed her hair behind her shoulder. "Well, I suppose I can think of something. Could you come up on stage my dear?" The crowd clapped and cheered, with Eve hooting and hollering the loudest out of them all. Grabbing his wrist, she dragged him toward the steps to the stage as chants of "Anita! Anita!" echoed through the space. "Come, dear, sit down," she demanded, retrieving a prop chair from behind the curtain. 

Thankfully the stage lights obscured most of the crowd to Q's sight, though with his glasses he could see so much more than he normally did while performing without them. Heart pounding in his chest, he hated that his nervousness of being put on the spot seemed so obvious. "Yeah girl!" he heard Eve yell from beyond the dark shroud, settling his nerves just enough to hear Kitty continue

"Now, I'd ask how old you are, but you never ask a lady her age, and despite what...this says," Kitty started, motioning to his clothing, "nothing could tell me that you aren't a lady. Girls? Do we have anything for Miss Anita's special day?" He saw Ima come to the stage to the reception of cheers, handing Kitty a thin piece of cloth. "I...what am I supposed to do with this?" she asked, her tone reflecting a confusion that was less than genuine.

"It's a blindfold, Kitty!" Ima chimed, sequins shimmering as she bounced gleefully. The crowd ooohed and wolf-whistled as Q's eyes widened beyond his frames. What the hell is going on?

Kitty's hands fell to his shoulders and she leaned into his ear. "You're alright, dear. All you need to do is sit and enjoy." Somehow her words were both reassuring and downright terrifying. "Should I put it on?" she called to the crowd, unsurprisingly responding with universal and enthusiastic affirmation. His trembling hands went to his glasses to remove them and give his public what they wanted as Kitty tied the cloth over his eyes to plunge him into blindness. "Good girl. Someone raised her well," he heard Kitty praise. "I think we've found a suitable gift, everyone. Please welcome, for a special one-night engagement here at the RVT, _Queen Anne Country_!"

_Who?_

As the cheers died down, the music started, a soft rock guitar into that left Q in complete confusion for a handful of bars until the lyrics began. He jumped half out of his chair to the feeling of a pair of hands on his shoulders, somehow leaving him more perplexed than before, because the hold didn't feel completely foreign, or even unsafe. The hands ran down his bare arms, and he felt a roughness covered by a layer of lotion that smelled like Kitty's, along with a perfume of Ima's. Q became pliable as putty allowing himself to turn into a puppet for the hands that took his own.

_"Hit me with your best shot!"_

The chorus hit just as Q regained his sight as the blindfold was ripped away. His head turned, and the mixture of emotions intensified enough that the crowd reacted to his gaping mouth and tea saucer eyes that stared into a blurry face. The lyrics carried on as he rushed to put on his glasses. "Oh my god." 

"Queen Anne" wore a wig Q recognized as his own to coordinate with the dark eye makeup, but nothing could disguise the trademarked smirk, even layers of lip liner. A white bodysuit under a black blazer put her muscular legs on complete display, lifted by a pair of leather boots. "Oh, my god." She danced around him, eyes never breaking their gaze as her hands explored the exposed sections of skin around his neck and arms throughout the chorus. With a skilled bit of choreography, she swung her leg around and took a place behind him, her palms grazing over his t-shirt before planting a kiss at the base of his neck.

A flirtatious glance over her shoulder with a beckoning finger drew Q out of his chair and toward her absolute presence, his legs feeling like that of a fawn as he took in the _everything_ of her. The ease of her face said I'm loving this as she flirted openly with Q in all of his ordinary glory under the heat of limelight, allowing Anita to emerge from his limbs and lips.

Queen Anne was nothing short of an athlete, despite her age, as she fell to her knees only to arch her back and throw herself back onto her heels, though the latter detail caused her to fall into Q's arms with a chuckle. With a playful shove, she pushed Q into the second chorus and got him lip-syncing along with her until she found her way to the front of the stage to pantomime the big guitar solo of the song. The energy of the room was vibrating with encouragement. Everyone knew she wasn't a seasoned queen, but Q would hardly be surprised if she wasn't invited back. The pride closed the gap between them and Q wrapped his arms around her and mimicked her undulating hip movements as if choreographed together, slipping off the blazer in the process to show the crowd her sculpted arms.

_"You're a real tough cookie with a long history, of breaking little hearts like the one in me. Before I put another notch in my lipstick case, you better make sure to put me in my place!"_

After putting distance between them, she was on the ground, crawling with the litheness of a panther with just as hungry of a look that made Q's only knees fall to the floor and match the movements with as much sexiness that civilian jeans would allow until they came together at center stage. Forcing Q onto his back, she continued her approach until she was over him and planting a brief but passionate kiss directly on her lips that threatened to render Q motionless in the position as the screams of the crowd shook the walls. 

He only got back onto his feet because she pulled him onto them and into her protective arms. The choreography morphed from sexual to sensual as she danced with him from her hands instead of her hips, running her fingers through his completely disheveled hair as they lip-synced the final chorus together. As the guitar rang out its final beats, she pulled him into a sturdy hug and a long, delicious kiss, so desired that the roars around him faded into near nothingness. Even as they broke apart and Q got a stable look at his face, bright blue eyes shining through the layers of foundation, dark shadow, and smudged lipstick, he shook his head. "I can't believe you."

"Happy Birthday, my dear."

* * *

"Be gentle with me, dear. I'm sore."

Q hardly made it inside the door of his flat, let alone his bed before he had James trapped beneath his hands. "I'm tempted to disregard your request after your little stunt today, but my empathy won't allow it." He remembered how difficult walking felt the day after he performed with his tuck for the first time. He lowered himself down to press his lips to James's and whisper "wanker" with a whiskey tinged breath against his jawline between kisses.

Not fighting his restraint, James only chuckled lowly. "Call me all the names you'd like, nothing will tell me that you didn't enjoy it."

"I was...merely impressed." Drawing away, he took in James's relaxed smirk and glistening blues. The silence felt like a warm blanket around the two of them, holding them in close comfort that Q didn't even realize he'd been craving his whole life. And he never imagined he would find with a man who until recently carried a license to kill.

"I love you."

"I love you too."

The kiss between them was as tender as the embrace they shared, James handling Q as the precious treasure he was. All the roads of the world had led him back here, and he couldn't be happier for it. The yearning in his chest drew him forward once more to Q's patient lips, and even once they broke away, the distance between them remained limited as Q relaxed his arms, his chest resting against James’s, feeling the rise and fall of his breathing that lulled him into a sleepy, tipsy stupor.

"Does this mean I get breakfast in the morning?" Q shook his head incredulously as he snickered to himself, so much wanting to return with a sharp-witted retort but finding in his relaxed state that he was unable to do so. Instead, he rolled to his side, a movement mirrored by James so they stared into each other's tired faces.

Stroking James's hair, he gave it a moment's thought. "I suppose that is only fair. You have more than earned it." He cradled his cheek and kissed him softly on his forehead, nose, and finally, lips before his mouth broke into a yawn. He felt James reach over and remove his glasses to set them in their place on the bedside table, as they settled into their own comfortable places within each other's arms, and in each other's lives.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> We've come to the end! Thank you so much for sticking with me on this crazy journey that spanned most of 2020! Comments and kudos are adored, and I hope to be with you all for future works!


End file.
